High Priestess

 

High Priestess

“‘I have no words’”

actually means

I have too many—

I need time & space

to process them,”

I admit to the One

I never met, except

in the digital corners

of the electronic birdhouse

slo-mo devolving into

an X-graded cess-

pool of bile & vitriol

disguised as liberty.

Yet how to process…

What? Curiosity? Desire?

Manifest Destiny???

All of this & none

at once: the vibration

our souls buzz with

as they glide through 

Limbo, tense & electric

as they wonder

whether the road ends

at Heaven or Hell

or somewhere else

for which we meager

mortals have yet

to find proper words.

I have no words

as I watch Her

fondle the toy

with the pout

of Her mouth—

Her lips pursing

as they caress its tip,

water pooling,

not quite covering

Her thighs, mesmerizing

droplets posting patterns

as they slide along the glass 

shower door, one eye 

covered by a wet

swath of hair

& the other:

coy? shy?

shame perhaps???

I think until it looks

directly at me—

not me, I know; 

looking at all

who follow, but—

through me: 

a stiletto

piercing

my already wounded

heart, & it dawns

on me:

She's not hiding,

there is no shame,

only a clear understanding

of Her own power,

Her Magick—

a knowledge

deeper than most

that even a post

projects power,

power that must be tempered

lest The Priestess

destroy The World

even lacking intent,

& I want that intensity,

I want it more

than I've ever wanted 

anything!

Of course I do.

I am The Fool,

after all, careening

carelessly through Life

with little more than hope

& irrepressible Joy

& The Fortune 

that blesses all fools

too blind to accept 

the darkness

that envelops 

The World.

Alas, She will always be

little more than a ghost

to me, a mystery

that I can almost taste

but never solve—

perhaps if I could muster

enough courage, enough

Will… …but then I'd 

progress to The Mage, 

& I might Will all

The World mine—

power I've feared

to wield widely, wildly:

even Wisdom

cannot always overcome 

the Chaos brought on

by the temptations

of The Devil.

So I settle for ghosts,

for shadows, for the single

sided projections my mind

plays as truth because

actual Truth is too burdensome

to bear: The World

is too big, The Priestess

is too far, & The Fool

only ever deserves

to witness Life & Love,

never to truly possess either

except in the dreams

He prefers to reality:

destined to live

the life of The Hermit

while The World moves on

with or without Him,

as always.

Ink·Heart·Serrations

Ink·Heart·Serrations

She suffers,
& I am useless,
incapable of soothing
her pain,
her profound loss,
her unrelievable grief!

How can she 
grieve
when her Love 
is not dead,
merely trapped
in a dungeon—
his own devise—
his demise
a concoction of poor choices,
arrogance & ego,
deep insecurity
masked as toxic
machismo?

Her Love is undead,
the great black wight,
barely a whisper
haunting
the collapsing
hallways of her heart,
& I can only bear
witness 
because I must hide
my own love, lest
in my selfish want
of her she feels 
smothered,
deprived 
of the space 
she needs to mourn.

¿What, because I dream
of my every morning
dawning with her 
in silhouette,
a shadow
against every
subversive sunrise?

& so we all suffer,
all of our hearts
incarcerated—
his imprisoned
within walls
of iron & concrete,
hers imprisoned
under the weight
of loss & absence,
mine behind
a loneliness
only she can cure 
& a foreboding fear
of losing her
forever—
all held 
in solitary,
confined
to the empty 
wastelands of our souls,
where hope 
can only be measured
by the pinpricks
of light that linger:
the imperfect promises
of love deferred.