...Million Dollar Fury...

Updated on January 25, 2018
Carole Anzolletti profile image

Author and illustrator of Whispers of the Goddess, a graduate of the Long Ridge Writing Group & Institute for Writers in West Redding, CT.

Ancestral ghosts gather round the amber fire

watch the burning words, gold glittering pyre

She holds the empty heads just right

Then tilts them back into the night

Puts Her black lips to their ears

Where only She and They can hear

Fills them with long howls of wolves

Until their capricious lost souls are full

She stands upon their low earthen stoop

While they sleep in fitful ominous loops

They are unaware of their obvious gift

Under my deep brow, with sweat adrift

A viable current deeper than any abyss

It's where souls have long gone amiss

It's where the river of gold is found

The night labyrinth underneath, my dark underground

The wind speaks loudly against the glass

I'm just a mortal I say, aghast

But She is Queen, She is nigh

Travelling swiftly through this half-moon sky

She cannot be stopped, nor turned away

Where Her influence is sure to sway

I'm letting it go, holding Her hand

Trust in the slow sliding of sand

In a tilted hourglass running like salt

Fate in the night cannot be bought


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