I HOPE NOT!

A shade of dark trepidation,

A screaming bolt of dread.

Don’t like these bloody feelings,

Running riot in my head!

All I want is peace and quiet,

Cos I can’t handle any strife.

Is it too much to hope for?

Just to have a “normal” life.

I sit dead still and silent,

just like a little mouse.

I’m scared of things that haunt me,

Both inside and out of the house.

I’m writing down the words,

And I pray they go away.

But perhaps it’s my fate unfolded,

To forever feel this way….

WARRIOR

Bury me deep when I have died,

With my sword and helm tight to my side.

My athame shall be strapped to my hip,

My wand shall be held in a vicelike grip.

My raven and pentacle on my chest,

As I go to Summerland’s rest,

A celtic warrior, ancient and proud.

I lie, quiet, in death’s pale shroud.

Many lives have I lived, many things have I seen,

Once I even had tea with the queen!

I’ve done my best, most promises fulfilled,

Lost count of the times I almost was killed.

A warrior, yes, tall, bold and true,

And other things as well, I left a big clue.

These things you’ll know, with nary a hitch,

For I’m not just a soldier but also a witch!

TEMPTRESS MOON

Oh maiden moon in midnight sky,

Just you and me and the owl’s faint cry.

Guiding me home, to my quiet rest,

You hold your virtue to your chest.

Oh mother moon, you wonderous sight,

Above, aloft in glourious flight.

Watches over with a peaceful love,

A caring hand in a star spun glove.

Oh aging moon, Atropos thou,

Friend to swan, dragon and plough.

Cuts the threads, to length be shorn,

to Summerland, to be reborn.

Ah temptress moon, oh veiled one,

Hiding your face from your pagan son.

Your fickle light, your thoughts unseen,

Of ifs and chance and might have beens.

The night is done, lady moon abed,

The lord doth raise his regal head.

A cloak of sky, a crown of red,

To grow our crops, to bake our bread.