Category: Poetry

Mender of Broken Hearts

Morag

Brighid, you who shines in the night sky
Brighid, you who rises above the eastern horizon to lead us to goodness every morn
Brighid, you whose light is within us all

Brighid, you for whom my heart beats
Brighid, you with the stitching kit and infinite patience
Brighid, you with the song to sing me well
Brighid, you with the hammer to smooth my roughness
I was broken before you, O Brighid, you who mends my cuts and tears and gets me ready for the front line.
I’ve been broken again, O Mistress of my undying devotion.
To you I return, again, and again — to face the night, to face the dawn, to face the world with a new bravery kindled in my heart, with a new light to show me my path, with new love swelling in my chest.
Brighid, shining above us
Brighid, lighting our ways
Brighid, reminding us of our humanity.

Prophecy

Morag

She spoke to me in a tongue of flame,
light flickering along the edges of my soul.

Like a dam bursting, Her words freed the truth already locked within me.

Desperation flew
as the lies of my childhood fought the oncoming flood.
They dig deep roots.

But water is more powerful,
and I know I am worthy:

I stand naked and proud before the Gods.

Anointed, Their priestess.
And I am ready to hear Their sacred whispers
that ring like great horns in my head

Like a snake’s tongue,
fire cleans my ears.
And Her song
reverberates through my very being.
The music makes a part of me I thought was dead
break into a new dance,
shedding old skin.

Power of words and words of power.

I speak not of change already set to happen:
it is my speech that draws it to life.

A picture painted
with sunlight on clouds.
And just as permanent.

Land, Sea, Sky
What secrets do you hold?

Brighid keep me
Brighid teach me
How to speak with the world.

Fires of inspiration
Waters of passion
The path of sacred art calls me to your meeting places

Brighid hold me
Brighid keep me

Help me heal myself.
Help me bring Your prophecy:
words to heal the world.

She of the Gleaming Edge

Morag

Glory to Morrigan
Eidolon sovereign
of blooded battlefields

Rich soil, soaked through.
Everything grows where death walked.

Queen of the Cycle
Rebirthing yourself anew

Year after year
day after day
my devotion grows
out of blood-soaked clay

Shall I offer whiskey,
that you may sleep and leave the world in peace?

No
I think I shall offer coffee
That you may have the energy
to do what needs to be done

Shining edge, gleaming steel
cuts away what doesn’t belong
It’s finished now
It’s done.