Banshee

When her voice howls at me through the night’s long ache,

or early morning’s sharp and barest light, or closes on my gut

at the end of a long and unsatisfying day, I hear.

And I know it not just for the sharp spindle of fate but

the high roar of inspiration, poetry, smashing

aside weakness and comfort for the utter magic of reality.


Crumbling away my greed for the fear I finally know it to be,

sediment of a thousand minor injustices, Brighid

points the finger of destiny, bright as a sunbeam;

The walls of my heart shatter with prophecy:

You will see injustice.

You must set it right.

You will live.

You will live.

You will live.

(Written 31 January 2022. Do not reblog without crediting me as the author.)

The arrows of Astraea

Her eye is more lofty than the clouds,

stark and a steadfast glare towards

our world, revolving in its shame.

When she bends her arms to

Strike, her fury scores a bright

Scar into the night’s memory and then

Fades to dark. Faster than the light

Striking surer than the narrow folds

of your most secret heart

Her blow finds its mark. You

are now tethered to the heavens,

your heart a magnet to her judgment.

(Written 31 January 2022. Do not reblog without crediting me as the creator.)