Sometimes a dark goddess raises in your heart,
And your lavender fields turn poppy red.
And she asks you to take your sword, that sword yield
So long ago and put to rest, wrapped in silk,
Under your bed. And you say no.
Sometimes a dark goddess will not take “no” for an answer,
And she’ll call again your name.
She will stand outside your window,
The wind lifting the veil of her moon-lit hair
Like a praying flag hanging on a tree.
And she will wait.
And you try to explain about your long
Winding quest for inner peace; the years spent
At the feet of masters; the mantras you said,
The blue lotuses you opened in your heart
To put your champion to rest.
You speak and you explain about the colours
In your life now, about the sweet birds singing in personal meadows you have come to create,
How you love everybody and everything, And how you tread gently, a child of the light,
Focusing only in the kindness and the warmth.
Sometimes a dark goddess smirks so softly
That all the temples inside of you crumble and crack.
At her feet, an armour has your name engraved on it,
And she will hear none of your reasons or truths.
Your sword, that one you believed safe away,
Rests on her hands, as she stands, still,
Outside, her silver eyes fixed on you, looking through
The wall, through your skin, through your bones,
And suddenly you noticed her raven sitting on your shoulder,
The barriers gone, her dark wings stretching
As wide as the night.
Sometimes a dark goddess brings birds’ songs to a halt.
She announces the season of the warrior; she demands you go out and put the wrongs right.
And she reminds you that only in her darkness
Can you truly see your light.
And you know you have lost: the excuses, the desires, good no more, not today, no in these times, and the only
Way to put away your sword, is to take it again,
And ride once more with the Morrigan.