Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Five of Swords

The psychic says I am a warrior,
battle ready to a fault.
He says I am a healer, nurturing 
the broken, and the two
parts merge. I go to battle for, and
heal the ones I think deserve me.

Waxing moon magick, 
spell cast oh my goddess
I want and she grants
and as with all love spells,
all the available is given
and all the baggage comes with.

So I arm myself and I lay 
on hands to heal that which
I did not inflict, and wallow in 
the new of strange,
all my fantasies granted.
Dumbass.

That which is fatal cannot be
healed, and all the wars without 
relief wear down even the most loyal. 
Drop the sword. Scatter the herbs.
Pause to breathe.
Look out over the battlefield.

Morrigan rises with the waxing moon.
Ravens pick the bones.
Disbelief banished. Truth remains.
Five of swords is not death,
just surrender. Walk away.
This battle is not worth the cost.

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