Völva

The dreams they tickle me sometimes

Crashing through waking awareness

A reminder

Much kinder

Than interpersonal speech

Stroking neck hairs

Forming goose bumps

That flock

On forearms

 

Someone says something I’ve heard

Colors frame the scene I’ve seen

Boundaries between past and present are blurred

I was and am, will be, and will have been.

 

But to what avail?

What the purpose o’ the tale?

Once the vision abates

Does some force negate my free will?

Reduce choices to nil?

 

I stand encased in invisible ice

 

In a pine tree, the raven preens snow-drenched feathers

 

Watching

Waiting

Listening

Glistening

 

Widened eyes emit a silent, dilated-pupil scream

 

Winds whip the pendulous pine cones

 

And I know not

I know not

 

What to do with my knowledge

 

Where to go from the knoll’s edge

morrigan_screenres2

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