Hekate's Child

Hekate's Child

Child of Hekate,

sweetness and light?

Where is the mark

of your entombment?

Buried prematurely,

to strive for growth

in dark enclosure

striving for a breath

of the pompously negligent

Sun,

of the blushing Moon

of the squabbling sons and daughters,

of daylight's pleasures.

Striving, tenderly

twisting around corners

aching for an unknown touch.

 

"Tell me, sir, then, how's it going now?"

Looking up narrowly from a tepid meal,

all at once remembering

playfellows on the schoolyard

running, out of breath,

filled with pride

a jolly good game.

Always someone begging

my attention,

but it wasn't really me,

just a story to steam off

or a butt to joke on.

All the silly give and take;

only time is taken

and that in big hungry chunks

of no tomorrows.

 

One long day

now the part all groggy

waking from fevered napping.

It wasn't supposed to be a tomb

nestled in Transylvanian bloodlines.

It was meant to be a child's cot,

freshly laundered cotton lace.

But the rats got in,

once the cats had been slaughtered.

 

Slowly wakening

I strive again to find my footing.

Learning to walk

was never as easy 

as forgetting to fly.