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Harvest of Souls

The blue moon is burgeoning in late
October skies, as the Hour fast approaches,
the time of The Crone. We kneel
before the Earth Mother and
worship Her skin, Her scars, Her wrinkles
and wisdom.
Place Jack’s lantern on the doorstep to
guide all your ghosts home, kiss thank
you to the ancient crust of the
planet, to the Witch of Four Winds who
gives their souls succor and leads
them to a final dark rest.
No god ever suffered humanity so much as
She who sheltered them through
their betrayal of Her.
Now November winds rage through
October trees and the leaves that
aren’t missing are brown. The
Harvest of Souls has come
and gone in the wake of the last of
the Fall;
The Lady is tired.
She will settle soon, like Sol into
a final darkness;
a deranged governess who
kills her own charges on her
way to self-annihilation.

Published inPoetryThe Halloween Book

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