Her secrets are carried on the mists of night
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earthly spectres that shield from light.
Not alone, I venture to the sacred space
to worship Her and all her grace.
Keep it inside, keep them well,
My mysteries you must never tell.
I feel Her whisper as a caress
electric with the power I possess.
The darkened groves, the sweet smelling grass
She lives in everything, in raindrops, in laughs.
I light a candle, She shows the way
to honor Her on the sacred days.
Naked to the sky, arms outstretched
I kneel, I chant, I call, I confess.
They burn my sisters, my circle of joy
so the arts of deception I must employ.
I have smelled their acrid remains
and cried out for clarity to ease the pain.
My mother, she died, battered and broken.
Yet not a Word of Her trueness had she spoken.
This knowledge is the dangerous kind,
as men and church seek to rule my mind.
A witch, the devil's consort, an angel of death
But in Her I shall believe, 'til I have drawn my last breath.