ominouspoet

Wind whispers through the air,
snatching at the girl,
sitting in the dark
her face shining though,
in the moonlight.

She is anything but what she appears

in the cemetery
blood moon shining bright

something stirs

a creature of darkness
awaiting its freedom

soon come its priestesses
bringing with them candles, incense,

and knives.

As a Catholic and learning pagan, history to me is very... upsetting, to say the least. I respect early Catholics want to spread the word, but I do not appreciate the forced conversions.

sometimes everything is so bothersome
the people too loud, too annoying, too intruding on my space

and when I try to read, to seek some escape,
i am once again reminded to "be respectful"

Hecate, my goddess.
She reigns over crossroads, magic, witchcraft.
Some say the night, the moon, the doorways are her domain.

Hecate, triple goddess,
Maiden, Mother, Crone.

red.

dark, bleeding, red.

her face contorted in pain
and her voice husky from screaming.

she crawled forward, towards me,
and I whimpered.

I went to her
tried to patch up the wounds,
but she pushed me away.