The Mother Bleeds.
Bleeding through this aching and resisting vessel
As a not so subtle reminder of the sacred power and gentleness that flow
Simultaneously and painfully
I am reduced to a hemorrhagic fleshy cage that must pay homage to the divine feminine while transmuting pools of sticky red nectar from one source to another.
Silently travelling through ancient and future timelines on this blessed red carpet of hard earned wisdom....This tapestry of wolves, wild women and soothsayers.
This Elixir thick with life and death
Drips
Igniting the Magic and Power that Dances between distant worlds and Human Flesh
Moaning congruently together.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Bodine Waterfire and writers in Poets and other communities.
Hall of mirrors
Things used to matter, before all the noise. And at that time when things still had meaning, there had been dreaming too, when dreams still mattered. And the brightest dream from those times was full of mountains and seas and smiles and the types of passion that absorbs you the way a dog is absorbed by witnessing something for the first time: with absolute presence, and awe.
By Giulia Viti2 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.