Shadows and Ghosts

I was visited by some ghosts last week, visions of white smocks, too close to what I’d prefer. My mother went under the knife, yet again and myself… well, I’m waiting on some news, which could be potentially daunting. Nevertheless, it is necessary to keep walking the path of life with courage, since we have been through worse before and undoubtedly will be tested in the years to come.


I am enjoying the last warm days in this part of the hemisphere, sitting in my terrace while sipping green tea, waiting for the full moon to rise yet again. It is my own blood she craves, as my body swells each month, each passing cycle, for eons to come. I will, as the eternal laws resolve, also become something different. In my time, a maiden, a matron, a crone…after my time is gone, who knows?

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The death of the hero
Is upon us.
It is the time of the year
To honour the latest avatar
Of our Godly ghost.

Many names he has known
Through the mists of time
And such names,
Still engraved in the stone
Tell of the same unchanging tale.

May it be Hristos or Horus?
The mighty hero returns
In the boreal coming of the Sun
And to his warmth and might
We must recall to sacrifice.

Without memory or reason
Our pavlovian psyches
Repeat the customs of aeons,
As our forefathers did,
Much cruelly, but surely.

For they did know the meaning
Of their moons and dates,
They understood the reasons
We now simply forget
Or turn to fairy tales.

We were once a bright young race,
Beloved by the Gods of yore
And somehow along the way,
We strayed and kept going alone.

How peculiar is it that we,
Even now though strangely repeat
The forgotten sagas,
Or mimic the long lost rituals
In the hope that with each sacrifice
We will be heard,
In the hope that one day
We will know with complete certainty
We are not alone.

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