Here There Be Witches

Happy Halloween my lovelies, I hope you all have a fun-filled, candy-strewn, and above-all safe holiday! Remember to keep an eye out for the impossible and eerily unexplainable because tonight magic is most definitely real and the Faeries will be a-roaming!

Image From Google. All Rights Belong To Artist.

Image From Google. All Rights Belong To Artist.

Brighid: The White Maiden

 

Brighid: The White Maiden

The heady scent of reddened apples greets her

As she strolls leisurely into her misted garden.

Shamrocks, heather, and snowdrops,

Follow in her footprints’ wake.

Sparkling drops of light shower down from the greenery,

As she passes by,

Eager to revel in her beauty,

Her splendor,

Her grace.

The red of the morning sun—

Liquid fire—

Feigns to scorch her golden hair.

But alarm does not arise in her breast,

For sunrise encompasses her domain.

Her healing touch sparks life in the surrounding beauty,

While a steel blade forged by her own hand sways on her hip.

Rhymes and images entwine her thoughts,

As Imbolc begins on this morn.

Already she prepares herself for the long day ahead,

For there is no rest to be had for a Goddess,

Especially one as greatly loved as she.

Image From Google. All Rights Belong To The Artist

Image From Google. All Rights Belong To The Artist

Fallen Angel

Oh Fallen Angel

Sweet incarnation of innocence,

How did you plummet thus far,

So far from the golden gates of Heaven,

Once your home after many weary lives?

Did your silken-feather wings,

A precious gift from God indeed,

Forget in a moment’s breath how to soar?

Oh White Light of God,

She-one touched by the warrior Goddess,

How did you lose yourself

Not once, but twice in pain and torment?

What could be so terrible,

As to have caused a suffering such as this?

Image From Google

Image From Google

Brighid: The White Maiden

 

Brighid: The White Maiden

The heady scent of reddened apples greets her

As she strolls leisurely into her misted garden.

Shamrocks, heather, and snowdrops,

Follow in her footprints’ wake.

Sparkling drops of light shower down from the greenery,

As she passes by,

Eager to revel in her beauty,

Her splendor,

Her grace.

The red of the morning sun—

Liquid fire—

Feigns to scorch her golden hair.

But alarm does not arise in her breast,

For sunrise encompasses her domain.

Her healing touch sparks life in the surrounding beauty,

While a steel blade forged by her own hand sways on her hip.

Rhymes and images entwine her thoughts,

As Imbolc begins on this morn.

Already she prepares herself for the long day ahead,

For there is no rest to be had for a Goddess,

Especially one as greatly loved as she.

Image From Google. All Rights Belong To The Artist

Image From Google. All Rights Belong To The Artist