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Pagan Poetry - Tiamat calls the Primal Woman

photography - Michael Germosén

Primal Woman, I call to you

And speak of spitting fire and Ocean tide

Swallowed whole by a passion of being And unbecoming The lines in the dark blur into memory Timeless and ageless as salt bought yearning Teeth chatter and chomp through the pages of history

Gnashing at an ode to freedom Something in our loins Mystery is not the unknowing But the unlearning of a half measured truth Matted in animal fur and war wounds Spears held tight smoothed with The practice and passage of time Fangs of a woman restless in her pursuit A dream of something ancient and eldritch

Reflections mirror in the scales The aching maw of one dark holy bite

Sea spray and knots of frayed twine Reminding you of what is mine In moments where Death is close

A gasping breath of clarity

Life is the jagged edges

Unapologetic for your power without

Embodying and unfurling a guttering cry

That rallies your kin

Fire in the belly of all creation erupting Mesmerizing The tale of you cannot be undone

Nor unseen

Wide eyes silent in the night The valve released will hiss and buckle The wave does not recede but swell With grave purpose

Shoulders burden knowledge that they cannot claim The world knows women they cannot tame Would rather die by salt and flame Than be forced into a rift of shame

Never again

Joey Morris 2018

All rights reserved

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