The gentle air, what lift thy heavy wing,
gave way to silver blade my hand once 'quipped.
Torn from limb thy feather fell,
stained upon my blood-red hand.
What flight I failed to see in thou,
before my rage which accursed me now.
See wound upon thy softest skin,
does burn my heart and soul.
Burdened forevermore;
Devils' hand may take my air,
nought ceased in lack reason.
I failed thee once, O angel fair.
Removed from heart, and pierced by Lilith's blade.
It be that price I pay and the suffering I bear.
About the Creator
Dan
25 years old, Glasgow/UK & Kvam/Norway
I write stories and poetry that dawn upon me.
It tends to be a bit sporadic - but I do try and upload when I can, usually comes in large chunks. Anyway, enjoy if you manage to understand it all
- Dan
Affection and Healing for Yourself
During the night of the last quarter moon, I gathered my ritual supplies. I carefully handled the chunk of black tourmaline that would protect me from your overall negative and narcissistic energy. I carefully walked the house with my stick of selenite in hand, asking the universe to cleanse our working space.
By Alisha Wilkins ✒️🦋🖋️7 days ago in Fiction
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