Post by Bear the Mystic (and cuddly) on Sept 8, 2005 21:01:33 GMT -5
Witch of the Moor
Bear Silvermoon, 2003
Bear Silvermoon, 2003
Upon the moor, the purple moor the moon did cast a pallid glow as with her eyes she took a tour of where the earth-bound spirits trode Her brazen hair did gleam and flow upon her robe quite loosely tied as kneel'd upon the ground so cold she hung her head and softly cried As her mother, and hers before through countless generations past her pow'r had now come to the fore in mastery of the craft at last Through years of secret and of fear the wisdom there was handed down and now 'twas fully present here in her who kneel'd upon the ground The gray mists rose with ghostly sheen from the valley there below and even those with senses keen knew not whither they would go Frosty fingers of the wind sought her tender breasts to find beneath the robes of silk so thin as if to worsen her troubled mind For many a care now burdened her this fair one kneeled upon the ground and in her heart she felt the spur of great misfortune all around Intent was clear as forth she came to the altar on the stone to call the pow'r she alone would tame and with her malice would enthrone Her tears did flow in rivulets down her alabaster cheeks from eyes that were as violets to the lips where she would speak the words to bring now justice swift to him who did misfortune bring and give to him the loathsome gift which to him would ever cling Her heart was rent in sorrow twain as she gathered all her strength to cast the spell and finally gain freedom from his evil link To the winds and to the tow'rs she called as held she high athame and trusted in the magick powers bespoke now in her very name The steely, glowing, athame so bless'd cast sparkles bright across her mane and gave hint of all that she possessed before the dancing candle flame The spell before her on the page of parchment bound from ages hence spoken would avenge her rage and her great heartache finally quench | The words began slow from her lips as the robe now she did shun to let the moon caress her hips and silhouette her as the sun The fires danced and jumped and sparked as the words came in a song more vexing than the finest lark from the lass with hair so long As she moved from side to side the dance increased its fevered pitch revealing beauty in the stride of the lovely, harried witch Her love had long forsaken her and jilted her in every way to his undoing - she, he'd spurned the one whose love he'd ever played His final gift to her had been the words of torment long endured long her heart he'd written in false love, rancid, cold, impure And as the hurt of his respite had grown from day to week to year her resolve and hoped delight would now finally end the tears Her malice, thus, was at its peak as the spell to climax came all she lacked, at last to speak this man's accursed, loathsome name But on the winds of Dartmoor blew voices from long ages lost to speak the words she knew were true though for a moment aside, she'd tossed "Do whatever pleases thee" she heard the ghostly voices say "if none it should cause harm to meet, at which thy powerful hand must stay" Her dancing slowed, her anger waned she knew her heart had heard them true "for as to others thy pow'r be aimed then thrice it shall be back to you" She drew herself now back before the altar made of ancient stone upon the misty, purple moor the spirit voices, sated, gone The bless'd athame she held now high in a prayer of hope and thanks for many women from her line had come to save her, from their ranks She called again the winds and tow'rs as she thanked the guardians there for their staying of the pow'rs she'd thought to use with little care For in her hurt, her heart forgot and scarce had missed a price most high which she'd have paid, herself begot the three-fold curse that had been nigh The candle flame died quickly tho' as she, her robes around her tied her secrets only the moor mists know and her Book of Shadows, forever hide |
