Tag: Paganism

Poetry

The Hidden Love

The Royal Octopus

In twilight’s hush, where shadows blend,
There danced a tale without an end:
Of Psyche, pure, with mortal breath,
And Eros, god of love and death.

She, a maiden mortal-bound,
With beauty rare and fate profound,
Caught the envy of gods above,
Yet knew not yet the depths of love.

Eros came, unseen by light,
A winged god masked by night,
He dared not show his face to see
What love in secret they might be.

With whispered touch and hidden hand,
He led her through a dream-wrought land,
Each night beside her, silent, true,
Yet always veiled from mortal view.

“Do not ask, and do not see,
For in the dark, we’re truly free.”
Yet Psyche’s heart, with questions pressed,
Longed to see her love confessed.

One fateful night, a candle’s glow,
Revealed the face she dared not know,
A god’s own gaze, both fierce and sweet,
And love lay broken at their feet.

The spell was cast; he slipped away,
As dawn dissolved their love to gray.
She wandered lands, crossed heaven’s gate,
For one last chance to mend their fate.

Through trials harsh and shadows steep,
Where gods would laugh and mortals weep,
Her courage shone—a light, a fire,
Born of pain and pure desire.

Till finally, through mercy’s grace,
She met her love in timeless space,
And as a goddess born anew,
She claimed a love both deep and true.

Eros and Psyche, star-bound flight,
Two souls entwined, in day and night,
Through mortal toil and godly scheme,
They found in each their truest dream.

2024 ©️

Poetry

Death’s Final Embrace

The Royal Octopus

She met him cloaked in night’s deep shade,
A whisper wrapped in dark cascade.
Her voice a plea, a soft lament,
“Grant me time that’s not yet spent.

“I’ve songs unsung, and fields to sow,
Dreams unspun, and hearts to know.
Hold back the tide, just for a breath—
Leave me longer yet, dear Death.”

He answered low, as shadows bind,
In tones that shivered leaf and rind,
“All things must end, both flesh and flame;
Life’s spark and glow are much the same.

“The stars, too, burn and fade away,
And rivers cease their winding sway.
The oak that towers, proud and high,
Must bow to earth, as all things die.”

She bowed her head, her hope unwound,
Her voice a murmur, soft and sound.
“Then lead me well,” she breathed, resigned,
“For I shall go, as all must bind.”

And Death, with sorrowed, timeless grace,
Held her hand in cold embrace.
“For every soul, a night will fall—
Yet in that dark, I hold them all.”

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Fool’s Journey

The Royal Octopus

With eyes wide open and a heart so free,
The Fool steps forth on destiny’s spree.
A cliff at his heels, a sun overhead,
The journey begins with no path to tread.

First comes the Magician, wise and grand,
With tools of power laid in his hand.
He teaches the Fool of will and might,
To shape his dreams, to summon light.

Then to the High Priestess, shrouded in night,
She guards the secrets of hidden sight.
In silence she speaks, her wisdom flows—
“Trust in yourself, for only you know.”

The Empress awaits, abundant and kind,
In the fertile soil, new life she’ll find.
She shows him love, of earth and birth,
The gentle strength that springs from worth.

With the Emperor’s rule, structure and law,
He offers control, the world in awe.
“Stand firm,” he says, “and build your reign,
Only then can you weather all pain.”

The Hierophant calls to traditions past,
Rituals that bind, old truths that last.
In his lessons, the Fool learns to see
The power of faith and community.

The Lovers now stand, a choice in sight,
Two paths, one heart—wrong or right?
The Fool feels the pull of love’s own thread,
A union of souls, a life newly wed.

With the Chariot’s strength, forward he flies,
Through trials and storms, beneath dark skies.
Steadfast and brave, his heart beats strong,
A lesson in drive, in passion so long.

To Justice he turns, scales held with grace,
Fairness and truth, she sets the pace.
Each action weighed, each deed laid bare,
In karma’s eyes, nothing to spare.

The Hermit’s lantern in darkness gleams,
A solitary light, of wisdom and dreams.
In silence, the Fool finds a deeper call,
To seek within, beyond the thrall.

With Fortune’s Wheel, the cycles spin,
Of loss and gain, of loss again.
The Fool learns to ride life’s twist and turn,
To flow with fate, to bend, to burn.

Strength meets him next, soft yet fierce,
A lion tamed, the veil pierced.
Through inner courage, fear’s undone,
The strength of heart, its battle won.

The Hanged Man waits, in upside-down rest,
A view that shifts, a pause, a test.
In surrender, the Fool lets go,
And finds in stillness, a new way to grow.

Then Death arrives with shadows deep,
An end, a change, a moment steep.
The Fool sheds skin, his old life falls,
For in each ending, a new life calls.

Temperance follows, serene and wise,
The art of balance, under calm skies.
With patience and grace, the Fool learns to blend,
Opposing forces, a path to mend.

But then the Devil, with chains of fire,
Tempts him with dreams of dark desire.
In shadow’s grasp, the Fool must see
The power of choice, the path to be free.

Through the Tower’s fall, with lightning’s crack,
Structures crumble, there’s no way back.
From ruins, truth emerges bright,
For in destruction comes new sight.

The Star shines down, a hopeful light,
Guiding him gently through darkest night.
Renewed by faith, his spirit glows,
The boundless peace the universe knows.

The Moon then calls, with mysteries deep,
Of dreams that dance and secrets that seep.
The Fool learns of fears and unknown tides,
To trust himself where darkness hides.

The Sun arises, warm and clear,
A burst of joy, a world held dear.
In radiant light, the Fool feels whole,
A life reborn, a shining soul.

Judgment sounds, a trumpet’s call,
Past lives rise, memories fall.
The Fool awakens, reborn and free,
He claims his truth, his destiny.

At last, the World—completion’s grace,
The journey’s end, the final place.
With wisdom gained and spirit bright,
The Fool circles back, renewed in light.

The journey repeats, with each step anew—
A spiral of growth, forever true.

2024 ©️

Poetry

Demeter & Persephone

The Royal Octopus

In fields where golden grains unfold,
Demeter wanders, strong and bold.
With hands that till and seeds that sow,
She watches over life’s soft glow.

But far beneath, in shadowed halls,
Where no sun shines, nor sparrow calls,
Her daughter waits, in quiet bloom,
In Hades’ dark and silent room.

Persephone, with eyes of night,
Once full of spring and meadow light,
Now walks among the shaded dead,
With iron crown upon her head.

Each year her mother grieves anew,
The earth grows cold, the sky dims blue;
For as the maiden leaves her side,
The world becomes a barren tide.

Yet spring returns, with her sweet grace,
A burst of life, a warm embrace.
The earth awakens, soft and green,
For mother and her cherished queen.

So seasons turn, a sacred round,
In loss, in love, the world is bound;
For death may part, yet love remains,
In flowers sprung from winter’s chains.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Wild God’s song

The Royal Octopus

In twilight woods where shadows sway,
The pipes of Pan begin to play,
A haunting tune, both wild and free,
That stirs the soul of land and sea.

His hooves strike earth, his breath the breeze,
That whispers through the ancient trees.
With curling horns and eyes of flame,
He dances, calling out his name.

Pan, the wild, the untamed god,
Who roams the fields where mortals trod,
With laughter fierce, he claims the glen,
The untamed heart of beasts and men.

The nymphs will join, the streams will sing,
And all the earth begins to ring.
For Pan, the wild, commands it so,
In moonlit paths where rivers flow.

Yet fear him too, in darkest night,
For Pan’s embrace is pure delight,
But chaos dwells within his eyes—
Where joy and madness intertwine.

In hills and hollows, meadows wide,
The echoes of his music hide.
And those who hear may never be
The same beneath his ancient tree.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Mother’s Mistake

The Royal Octopus

Born from soil, from stars, from sea,
Yet unlike all, they came to be.
With minds that reached beyond the skies,
Had hands that built, and tongues that lied.

They rose from earth with prideful claim,
To bend the world, to carve their name.
But in their rise, they left behind
The gentle pulse of Nature’s mind.

The rivers cried, the forests thinned,
The air grew thick, the seas were pinned.
For what was green, they burned for gain,
And in their grasp, came endless pain.

Machines and cities, steel and fire,
Their endless wants, their deep desire.
They took too much, they gave too little,
Their hearts of stone, their souls so brittle.

The sky now fades, the earth now groans,
And yet they stand upon their thrones.
Blind to the wounds they fail to see,
The greatest flaw in Nature’s tree.

Oh, Mother Nature, did you weep
To see your children fall so deep?
For what you birthed with love and care,
Became a burden hard to bear.

Perhaps in time, they’ll learn to bend,
To heal the world, their ways amend.
But until then, with hearts opaque,
They’ll wear the mark—your grand mistake.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Baba Yaga

The Royal Octopus

In the woods where shadows creep,
Where twisted trees in silence sleep,
Lives Baba Yaga, wild and wise,
With ancient fire behind her eyes.

Her hut on legs walks through the gloom,
A place of both fortune and doom.
The lost and helpless seek her door,
Hoping for gifts, but she gives more.

“Come in, come in,” her raspy call,
“To those who need, I give my all.
But understand, no spell is free,
You’ll earn your fate, as it must be.”

A girl once came with teary plea,
“Save me from my misery.”
Baba Yaga stirred her brew,
“Then tell me first, what can you do?”

The girl cried out, “I’m weak, I’m small,
I cannot work, I cannot crawl.”
The witch just laughed, her eyes aglow,
“Then you are not prepared to grow.”

She vanished then without a trace,
Leaving the girl to face her place.
But others came, their spirits strong,
Seeking where their hands belong.

A farmer begged for fertile lands,
He brought his plow, his calloused hands.
“Good,” Yaga said, “You’ve come with toil—
Now plant your dreams into the soil.”

A craftsman sought to find his way,
He worked through night, he worked by day.
“Ah,” she said, “You’ll earn your keep,
For those who build, shall never weep.”

So Baba Yaga’s lessons clear,
To those who work, you need not fear.
The witch rewards the self-made path,
Her wisdom hides behind no wrath.

For those who help themselves with pride,
Find Baba Yaga on their side.

2024 ©️

Poetry

Demeter

The Royal Octopus

Beneath the earth, the shadows spread,
Where light once warmed the fields, now dead.
Demeter roams with tearful eyes,
Her daughter lost to darkened skies.

The wheat is still, the harvest cold,
No golden grain, no tale to hold.
Her arms, once full of life’s embrace,
Now reach for Persephone’s stolen face.

Each flower wilts, each tree stands bare,
The bitter winds weave through the air.
Her sorrow’s deep, her cry a storm,
A mother’s love, without its form.

She waits in winter’s long, cold reign,
For spring to bring her child again.
But in her heart, the ache remains,
A world untouched by joy’s refrain.

For when the earth beneath is torn,
A mother’s grief is everborn..

©️ 2024

Poetry

The Titanomachy

The Royal Octopus

In ages old when dawn was young,
The heavens roared, the earth was wrung,
Titans and gods in wrathful dance,
A battle born of vengeance, chance.

On Othrys’ peak, the Titans frown,
Primordial might, their ancient crown.
Cronus, their king, with scythe in hand,
Ruled with fearsome iron command.

Yet from below, the thunder cried,
Olympus rose, its gods defied.
Zeus, the son of storm and flame,
Led forth the host, in power, came.

With thunderbolt and lighting’s lash,
He cleaved the skies with fiery flash.
Poseidon raised the seas in rage,
Tidal fury, nature’s cage.

Hades called the earth to part,
Shadows dark and cold of heart.
The Titans fought with strength untamed,
But slowly, their bright essence waned.

Atlas bent beneath the sky,
As gods above claimed victory high.
Prometheus, wise with foresight keen,
Betrayed his kin for what he’d seen.

Ten years of war, the earth did groan,
Until the gods had claimed their throne.
The Titans bound, beneath the earth,
Their rule now ashes, without worth.

And so the skies and seas took peace,
The reign of gods would never cease.
But in the deep, the Titans wait,
Their ancient hearts still burn with hate.

2024 ©️

Poetry

Hera’s plea

The Royal Octopus

Hera stood before Him, her voice but a plea,
In the halls of Olympus, she showed her vulnerability.
“Zeus, my husband, my king, my heart,
Why must we always stand worlds apart?

Is my love not enough, my arms not warm?
Why stray to others and cause me this storm?
I’ve borne your rage, your whims, your fire,
Yet still, I remain, bound to your desire.

Look to me, and see all I can be,
Not just the queen, but your eternity.
The heavens, they tremble when you betray,
Yet here I stand, though you drift away..

Do they offer you more than the stars in my eyes,
Than the love in my heart or my soft, faithful sighs?
Do you really not feel the weight of my tears,
As you chase after shadows through these endless years?

I’ve asked not for power, nor thunder, nor throne,
Just you by my side, and you alone.
For every lover, I fade in your skies—
Zeus, please, let me be the sun in your eyes.”

She waited, and waited, her heart heavy, like stone,
While the king of gods sat silent on his throne.

2024 ©️