Hecate waits. Between winter and spring,
Timing, when to push, is crucial.
Life’s moods will change;
It will burst, rock and consume,
Enchant and disappoint.
Life hides in dark shadows;
It dreams among the creepy things of our fears:
The blind grub, the dung beetles,
Rotting flesh and decayed greens.
It hangs on in the mazes
Of dried up roots and sharp flint,
In the stench of our waste,
The rage of our despair,
The rheumy eyes of a pup,
The wrinkles of our skin
And the dullness of our hearts.
Life has no choice.
It moans and pushes… it feeds death.