The hum of spring
bursts into
joyous song.
Gazing upon renewal,
all the old cliches
of eternal hope
march through my mind
like ghostly soldiers.
The echoes of the past,
of lost battles, of wars lost,
fade with their footsteps.
But the hope
I feel is real.
And inner peace
comes forth
as an
opening bud.
There in the nursery
moonlit and blue,
Something is hovering,
covering you.
Calmly you’re staring,
for only you see.
Tell me if it’s here for you,
or for me.
Softly, you gurgle
and reach out to touch;
then cackle with laughter,
the tickling’s such.
Coming to get you,
it makes itself known.
I reach out for you.
My body is thrown.
“No one,” I cry,
“takes my baby from me!”
You’re fading, and fading…
I no longer see.
I don’t hear a gurgle,
a coo, or a cry.
The dark fae has taken
my sweet child.
Goodbye.
Trained as a warrior,
they’ll make you strong,
fighting their battles and singing
their song.
War cries and weapons
will conquer your days.
I can’t come to you
for they’ve blocked the ways.
But I’ll keep trying to
find you. I will.
Mountain or valley,
and river or hill.
And if on the field of battle we meet,
I’ll throw my bloody sword down at your feet,
tell you I love you, embrace you, and die.
Though you brand me ‘enemy’, you’ll wonder why.
When truth revealed shakes your soul
to its core:
You have just slaughtered
the woman who bore
Your weight in her belly,
your food in her womb.
Carry her then from this world
to her tomb.
Cry not, my little one.
It’s not your fault.
Let not your tears taste of
sorrow and salt.
Dream of the nursery,
moonlit and blue,
and of the lullaby
I sang to you.
Beyond Panic 