Badb at Samhain – Guardian of Death


Image – Natalie Ving

Memories in dirt trod places
An ache of something soul wired
Screeching across field and foe
The rankling of oppressive chains
Ripped and charred
Once a story learned by rote
No longer spoken but on the wind
Only the memories we carry
Claws in the darkness, teeth biting,
Burn it all to ash and starch the bones
Sing to them, sing for them, bleed into them,
All those forgotten souls, honourable, wise, less so
Death is not a quiet whisper
A story is not a silent thing confined to rotten tomes
It is alive in the tendons
In the bone of people
Singing out from the vein
Painted in every colour, every harmony
From wrathful rage to quietest hope.
See once more with Crow sight
A world apart, growing, yearning, dying,
As Guardian of Death She is ever watchful
All knowing
Still growing
Cawing in the Darkness, reminding,
Remember who you are
Not who you were in distant times
But battle frenzied, blood clotted, sweating, aching in the act of living
And dying

– Joanne Morris 2017 All my own work all rights reserved

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