These weeks have been hard on me. I am sick, I seek recovery and rehabilitation, but my employer will have none of it. You make do. In times of hardship, you hold onto beauty and love. Here is another poem, about witchcraft.
The fog-hidden
A chant out in the dark, like a hymn
cast downwards towards the earth.
symbols of rebellion grant power,
bringing solace to the bleeding weak.
No chain in existence, nor contract
can bind them to another’s fate.
Their power is their own make,
belonging to none but them.
The lingering mist is fat with laughter,
and love unknown to any man.
A warmth burns in the darkness, for
those cast out by the few male beautiful.
The light encloses the darkness within,
and would swallow it whole if it could,
but the shadow falls where it would,
and the light comprehended it not.