Will my words never come out right?

Will I forever be misunderstood?

A phrase, a whisper, a laugh

Uttered in peace

So quickly framed in darkness.

At fault, prodder, malcontent.

Ever the bearer of poison

To sicken the happiness

Of those I love and fear.

Never have I worn these hateful robes.

This snakeskin does not fit,

It chafes and burns and stings and pinches.

Until I resent my state.

Bound, a player at your leisure,

I suffer your condemnation,

Almost forgetting the truth.

But still I wonder…

Why am I your darkness?

Why have you made yourself mine?

When I wrote this poem I so clearly saw a picture in my head and I tried my best to copy it down onto paper, but unfortunately I was not given my mother’s talent and skill with regards to drawing, lol! That being said and you all now forewarned about my meager ability, here is my drawing of the Snakeskin Maiden…


The Snakeskin Maiden

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