- Posted on
⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.
Well, good morning, good afternoon fellow Humanoids or NHI, even. , and yes, this is some poetry, and I hope you like it. It's based on the wheel of the year.
Where seasonal myth decays into poetry and returns as ritual
A Samhain-to-Mabon Cycle Song
I — SAMHAIN (The Mouth Opens)
The year begins where the breath goes thin, Where names rot soft on the tongue. No doors are closed, no graves behave, And nothing stays undone.
The veil is not a curtain now It’s teeth. It’s split. It’s wide. Every ghost you buried deep Is clawing back inside.
Ash in the lungs, salt in the wound, The clock forgets to lie Time spills out like blackened blood. This is where things die.
Samhain The mouth of the year unseals. Samhain It remembers what you tried not to feel.
II — YULE (The Refusal of Light)
In the longest night, something stirs Not gentle. Not kind. Not warm. A spark like a threat in frozen ribs, A pulse inside the storm.
The dark grows tired of holding power, It fractures, spits, and yields But light comes back like a blade unsheathed, Not mercy something that kills.
Candles tremble, not from peace, But from something drawing near The sun returns with a broken grin: “I was never gone. I was here.”
Yule The sun claws out of the grave. Yule It burns what it came back to save.
III — IMBOLC (The First Betrayal)
Beneath the frost, beneath the skin, A quiet treason grows The earth remembers how to move Before the thaw even knows.
Milk runs thin through starving veins, Ash clings to every breath This is not life, not yet reborn Just something waking from death.
A flicker beneath the frozen ribs, A whisper you can't silence Not hope no, something sharper still: A slow, deliberate violence.
Imbolc The first crack splits the bone. Imbolc You are no longer alone.
IV — OSTARA (The Breaking Point)
Green erupts like open wounds, Petals scream through dirt Nothing soft about the bloom, Everything is hurt.
Roots tear through what used to hold, Sky splits into light Growth is just another word For a beautifully staged fight.
The body remembers how to want, The blood begins to race But every blossom hides a cost: Survival leaves a trace.
Ostara The garden feeds on the weak. Ostara Every bloom has teeth.
V — BELTANE (The Taking Flame)
Fire runs without a leash tonight, It laughs in hungry tongues Skin becomes a boundary It cannot help but cross.
Desire is not a gentle thing, It devours, it brands, it marks Every touch a little death, Every kiss leaves sparks.
The world is heat, the world is pulse, The world is teeth and breath Creation wears the face of lust And smells faintly of death.
Beltane The flame that eats your name. Beltane You will not leave the same.
VI — LITHA (The Exposure)
Nowhere left for shadows now The light is absolute. Every flaw laid bare and raw, Every hidden truth.
The sun does not forgive or blink, It stares until you break Reveals the mask beneath the mask, Every lie you make.
Too bright to hide, too loud to flee, The self stripped down to bone You are everything you feared And everything you’ve shown.
Litha The light that flays you clean. Litha Nothing hides in between.
VII — LUGHNASADH (The First Cut)
Gold fields whisper in the wind, Heavy heads bow low Abundance hums a fatal tune Only sickles know.
The harvest smiles with bloodied hands, It thanks you as it takes Every gain a quiet loss, Every feast a wake.
You built this with your breaking back, You fed it with your days Now watch it fall beneath the blade In slow, deliberate ways.
Lughnasadh The blade inside the bread. Lughnasadh You eat what you have bled.
VIII — MABON (The Beautiful Ending)
The air goes still. The light grows thin. Everything exhales Color drains from living things Into quiet, brittle tales.
Beauty learns to loosen grip, To fall without a fight Leaves let go of everything They once held tight.
There is no rage, no desperate cry, Just the softest kind of grief The kind that knows all endings Are just a form of relief.
Mabon The art of letting go. Mabon You reap what you outgrow.
IX — RETURN (The Mouth Waits)
And somewhere in the dying hush, A silence starts to breathe Not empty no, just listening For what comes underneath.
The wheel does not forgive or stop, It circles, slow and wide Every end you swear you’ve reached Is something still alive.
A mouth waits in the dark again, Familiar. Open. Near.
Samhain is always coming. The year is always here.
Wishing everybody who reads this peace healing, love and light, no matter who, what or where you are, or whatever universe or realm. Have a good one.
I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.
