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Mind


The Manticore


I light the candle

as a child, I was haunted by night terrors
I would startle awake to the sensation of pressure,
to the sound of a disembodied voice sighing, so deeply it made the house creak and rumble, it was around that time, that I came to know the white witch,
this wild wisdom taught me the ritual of the true flame,
to light a candle every night before I went to bed

I light the candle

before the spell is broken, not because I am afraid of the obscure and indiscernible, because I devour it ferociously and manically
for my fate, is cruelly marked by the manticore's claws
it stalks its prey in disguise wearing the face of a loved one,
with its lite beckoning, cooing, and purr
it comes bearing gifts, sweet honey, and warm milk
when you embrace it, it nests near your heart,
anticipating, it lies in wait for that one moment when you look away
that's when the manticore lunges at your nape, with its scorpion tail now revealed
its poison works its way through your system
polluting the waters within your soul-self

I light the candle

the many years since has left nothing but a ruin
its many floors overrun with gloom-wraiths in ragged robes
a place that was once so clean and illuminated, now besieged by the beast
tethered in its shackles and forever starving,
pacing restlessly like a tiger in its cage,
teeth like lightning bolts,
flashing and gnashing
with every turn of a new year, it plots its escape
thrashing and biting its way through the ramparts of my consciousness,
the stinger is felt through the inner voice of the mind; harsh and damning
its terrifying mane prickles and itches,
creating gauges in my skin,
its paralyzing roar fixates the body to the floorboards as the shadows dance on
beady citrin-yellow eyes,
a malicious sheen evoking the dark man in my dreamscape

I light the candle

at dawn the day before new years eve, the manticore lives on because of me
my shield and sword, the hopes and prayers of the grandmothers,
the ones that came before and whose presence is still felt,
a vow made woven through every fiber of my being;
every daughter must face the manticore at some point in their life
they must brave that journey alone,
stop the chase and turn towards it
they must gaze upon its horrid countenance;
without fear or question

I light the candle

to banish the evil forces amassing at this time,
to strengthen the wards from within,
upon which I write down the names,
of all things hellbent on killing the flame

I light the candle

for now, my heart must be content










Fri vers (Prosapoesi) av J. Herward
Läst 177 gånger och applåderad av 1 personer
Publicerad 2021-12-30 12:02



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2022-10-12
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J. Herward