To Touch Mortality

To touch mortality, to explore it with splayed fingers and to find it lacking.

How can this be?

In the darkest corner of night, there in the place where shines no hope and no light, I find that I must tread and face eerie dread. I thought a goddess I would be, ‘til the knocking at the door of my mortality shook my dreams from me. I am but a witch born, a healer, a dreamer of delusions grand, a footprint fated to fade in the sand.

How can this be?

Power pulses in my fingertips, words of grace fall from my supple lips and yet I have not the wielded strength to thwart the march of time. I struggle to forsake the ridiculous and to embrace the sublime.

How can this be?

Crashing thunder and burning skies, still the great mother dances in place, a blue jewel in a dark sea, for what must seem to her, an eternity. Not so lucky, you, me, not so blessed are we. We are the dust upon her hem, the spangled stars upon her crown, the wilting blooms that decorate her hair, some lovely, some wrought from despair.

Do you see?

So I now dry my tears with frayed lace as I reach to caress your weathered face. I know now that we are not meant to last an eternity. Though starry bright we may be, we are more akin to blossoms upon the vine, than stars that twinkle in the vaults of the Divine.