Morrigan

Mist seeps through my memory and the strangled
tunes of the dead rattle their breaking bones
treasure hoard or funeral pyre, I sit on skulls
drinking wine that was once angel blood, fresh
from wounds claws dug into to prise immortality
my beasts fetched my drink from the fields, the
corpses came of their own accord, I comb golden
curls off the mummified remains of my daughter,
dumb little bird, she could not handle my milky
poison, and so I tend things as barren Baroness
of the cavern behind the waterfall, Morrigan to
men, Slayer of Mine Enemies, Claimer of Spoils –
say my name and I descend like the stormy seas.

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6 thoughts on “Morrigan

  1. I like the way you play with the personifications of belief systems. There is a lot of joy in playing with the “demons” that people have come up with. I think it is like the chimera of the Devil in the tarot. He is kind of a joke really. You have to learn to laugh at “evil” and “good” if you want to keep them in perspective and grow as a person.

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