Wicca
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Sunshine gleams
and warms my scar covered arms,
and my scar covered insides.
The soothing warm breeze leaves gentle kisses
on my broken body,
and my broken heart.
Many times I brood alone
Thinking of the world’s melancholy mourning
Bearing the weight of creation
Upon my hateful human heart,
Until a presence fills me
Under the light of the shimmering stars
You think to yourself just who you are
A wandering child, a kin of the Earth
Hand written with a quill pen,
Growing each day,
My Wiccan spellbook is my pride and joy.
I look at it every day,
And it reminds me,
Of who I was, am, and will continue to be.
Shudder and scream!
A witch grows near!
This is not a dream,
for the witch is here.
History is wrong.
A bad story told
for far too long.
Sun lost, Demeter’s tears,
For so the land hath slumbered here,
For the once warm air now dull and queer,
Stop! Something rustles in the dark,
Hark! Someone approaches like a lark.
This November I went O’er my previous sights
I saw a glorious view in a bright hue,
It’s Wicca, a new horizon but an old way.
I come to it openly and with a heavy heart
I dance, I ride, I feel the music and nature,
Life grows from her ribs
Feminine Beauty and Strength
She is Cool
The very Air you breathe
She is Fierce
The very Sun you absorb
She is Sturdy
The very Earth you rest your feet on
The ignorance of peopleAlong with the pain I'm dealing with insideAnd slowly driving me mad
(poems go here)
How sublime are You, veiled in mist.
The rain, Your dress, cast off
Only a cloak and veil remaining.
How numinous. How lovely.
How strong are You, crouched in mist.
Why do you tell me that what I believe is wrong
How would you feel if i said that you're wrong
I hate how you hear Wiccan/Pagan and think devil worshipper
But the jokes on you I don't believe in the devil
