What your dark mind must conceal
from the spirit
of joy and forgiveness
from that which is pure
tested by time
and the wanting hands
of the sacred crone
the waiting one
who cowers
yet smiles
woman aged of wisdom
warrior soul
spirit eternally reborn
transformed
singing truth
through the hail and barrage
‘cross the bow mast
of freedom
seeking broad measure and berth
as all that you seem to desire
slips slowly away
like rain down a spout
as your nightmares plumb deep
the sphere of black dreams
this timeless crone
could be your miracle
your salvation — your way out
your frail breath
to carry you through your passing
*
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: The Sunday Muse