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Saturday, September 13, 2014

A Poem for Nemain

This is another attempt to convey a vision experience with a poem. Take it as you will.

The smell, metallic in the air,
on my tongue, a taste like iron
She appears before me, fair
skin painted for battle with
blood, it drips from her hair
as if she'd run through a rain
of it, drenched and dripping
she stares through a mask
of blood, her eyes stripping
my defenses down to the bone
her bloody hands gripping
a sharp short sword's hilt
silent and shadowed, staring
she stands there still as death
frenzy in her eyes flaring
like fire, burning in darkness
like razors biting, tearing
into my soul, merciless, slicing
into flesh, until a river flows
her body still, her eyes aflame
terror goes where she goes
I shudder to see her, in fear,
in love, and in a flock of crows
she is gone

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