Forever
“Forever”
When The Terrors came,
The Uncontrollable Ones,
she closed her eyes
and listened for the notes
her mother had planted
amongst the deep blues,
beds of Forget-Me-Nots,
she followed the
labyrinthine trail
and through a gate unhinged,
it would seem destroyed, thrown aside,
she came upon a safe sweet secret spot
of mysterious circling,
oak, ash and thorn,
where banished keys dangled
glistening like jewels, dripping wet red,
red as ruby red apples, the scent metallic
crisp and green off the leaves
of dark mourning forest trees,
they sounded like magick,
like jangling symbols,
faery chimes, haunting,
heralding softly her arrival.
Autumn approached like Halloween
silently unobtrusive, camouflaged
in all her muted glory,
colours of a woman not child,
courageous, alert, calculating,
like a noble warrior queen
welcomed as much as Winter,
to the unknown shores of some faux
kind foreign territory, ominous,
yet somehow harmless, benign,
her bare feet felt the ground humming -
there she, scrying through the sound
reflection of tears, muddied puddles,
invisible footprints appeared visible,
she filled the imprints
with the fair skinned signature of her own
and there, she followed
the labyrinthine path
quite quiet, all alone.
Instinctively, not logically
she followed the maze
the Smythsewer had sown,
creating a strong spine for her,
a Jacob’s Ladder
sewn from the bones
of the wayward Troll’s back
from his old body, the one
before prison entombed him,
where once long ago,
his shadowy handsome youth,
he called Home.
There, at the highest point of the path
found she, threaded through the roots
of a singular White Rose
its thorns weeping tears
bleeding blood red words
red as the reddest red rose,
scores of a story marked 3
on parchment ancient and old,
a token foreseen and foretold.
She felt through the heavy
blankets of moss, patchworked with runes
some might call stones, never rocks,
turned the graveyard soil,
digging there with her blistered bruised fingers,
without any qualms
ruthlessly removed nails effortlessly
from the claws of howling dead hounds,
all of them Baskervilles, piercing notes twisted,
scorched by the ghosting gas-lighters
now short for words, gasping, all shallow-drowned,
eventually all muted, unheard, tortured unfound.
There, in that spot, she touched underneath
all of that filthy dank rot,
there, she felt and she heard,
the pure heart beating,
war torn yet warm,
living still,
buried deep, wearing truth, n'er superficial
it breathing life, yet still,
life crying to be taken, fulfilled.
Under jade chains of ivy,
the golden chord wrapped itself
around the lost girl,
pulling her ever closer inwards,
there she looked with her mind
through the cool shaded lens of her soul,
somehow familiar, possessing this very odd world,
reflecting, absorbing the prophetic signs,
new pages of a book which she
must feel to listen to see, to touch true design,
all the stories in the here and now
opening miraculously through
wayward warped time.
There, blooming alienated she scried,
Sahasrara Padma, a rare lotus flower,
a thousand petals unnumbered
magenta and ultra violet hues,
borne from the colour white,
pure and white as the
beauteous full bodied moon -
the phantom breeze dispersing the petals,
begin to turn all the torn pages
to stories forsooth!
opening never-ending
Fibonacci doors
ad infinitum,
not sonnets,
nor villanelles,
more complex
and crazy
like never-ending
curs'ed
persistent pantoums -
yet not.
She was discovering,
like treasure, notes wrapped
in mysterious music,
new unopened routes
to escape through,
fault lines opening
lux vitae discourse
for all her fractured
muses hermeneutic -
from their pulpits
they appeared to be not
stagnant, but unnatural
and eerily moving,
passing through the
In-and-Out doors,
transformative and
gruffly impugning.
When The Terrors came,
The Uncontrollable Ones,
she closed her eyes
and listened for the notes
from the White Rose
her mother had planted
under jade chains of ivy
amongst the deep blues,
beds of Forget-Me-Nots.
It was there,
Her angels appeared
guardians all around her
shimmering like mirrors,
opening arms of protection
she could fold into,
wings to murder
The Terrors,
bury all
The Uncontrollable Ones,
all her murderous darlings,
rest her weary heart
all her thoughts
all her words,
dissolving, yet a part
of it all, interred in this world,
to sleep soundly
forever
lay down her
shield and her sword,
gift the other
her heart,
gift the other
her bleeding red shoes,
occulent keys,
her grimoire
words.
(Ladylabyrinth / 2021)
gvlm
“Under the Ivy”/Kate Bush
https://youtu.be/GVG31STTu68
“This is what I believe:
That I am I.
That my soul is a dark forest.
That my known self
will never be more
than a little clearing in the forest.
That gods, strange gods,
come forth from the forest
into the clearing
of my known self,
and then go back.
That I must have the courage
to let them come and go.
That I will never let mankind
put anything over me,
but that I will try always
to recognize
and submit
to the gods in me
and the gods
in other men and women.
There is my creed.”
Lotus
https://www.tribuneindia.com/news/archive/lifestyle/lotus-of-a-thousand-petals-707133
https://www.binghamton.edu/iaad/outreach/Meaning%20of%20the%20Lotus%20Flower%20-%20%20handout.pdf
White Rose
https://www.goldflorist.com/pages/White-Rose-Meaning.html
Forget-Me-Nots
https://gardenerdy.com/what-do-forget-me-not-flowers-symbolize/
b. 18.9
d. 18.9
Smythsewer/Smyth-Sewn
https://www.strathmoreartist.com/faq-full-eu/what-is-smyth-sewn-binding-719.html
The Red Shoes
https://youtu.be/rbbPPy_bNM4
3
https://www.bookofthrees.com/the-symbolism-and-spiritual-significance-of-the-number-three/
Cymbals/Symbols
Ruins/Runes
Foe/Faux
Sown/Sewn
Magick
Copyright © Lady Labyrinth | Year Posted 2021
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