Wednesday, January 30, 2013


And here I found myself conjuring poetry when I did not mean to. Could it be that another, inside hiding, could have chosen my own quill to reveal the uncanny events in my life to be kin to that of a lost soul at the base of a crossroads at dusk? Nevertheless, here is a poem wrought in innocence of the age old hoodoo ritual of the Black Cat Bone and its summonings, until I found the meaning behind the theme only months later....imagine my surprise.
The words are for your eyes to revel in.
The audio clip is for your skin to crawl.


 I came one night to my dismay
Upon the time of final ray
The sun had died and darkness fell;
Knew I not this path to Hell.

There it stood majestic, wise
The Yew tree in its fav'rite guise
The wind stirred not, the dust lay still,
Yet felt I twinge of writhing chill.

Swaying quietly, to and then fro,
Barely moving, branches low
I stopped in my wonder and wandering no
My yearning to walk on, not being so.

Branches and twigs all twisted and dry
Giant the fingers all crooked and high
Bowing its bark to meet with mine eyes
Questioned my senses for, did I hear cries?

Sanity bade me run to the East
Here at the crossroads, gate of the Beast
Limbs want not movement, lest I be caught
It was my soul, my essence was sought.

Fell from my stance and sat on the ground
I saw among roots, the burial mound.
What lay beneath me, asked I the Tree
Replied it that it was not my place to see.

On wings of the ravens, saw I the souls,
The corpses of badmen plucked full of holes.
Rode they the Blackbird as beckoned by Tree
To swing in the breeze and laughed they at me!

Unholy, the Yew tree with blood on its bark
I prayed for the refuge of sun, killed by dark.
Hearing the shrieks from the criminals, hung
Losing my temper, my swansong was sung.

Into the night and onto the West
Fled I with angels, my deeds confessed,
But Sin held my ankles and Guilt rode my back
The tree held me ransom for faith that I lacked.

And under the moon and glittering stars,
Nursing my freshly gained blisters and scars,
The tree told me stories of horrors, so foul
Amidst all the tales, 'twas the wolf's howl that scowled.

My blood fed the Yew tree, the tree of the Dead
The Hangman had grown it, with malice being wed.
Slowly I crawled, but the dead heard me go
They summoned me back on the wings of the crow.

Inside of me felt I the rise of the gloom
My eyes were the cage, my body the tomb
And moonlight had painted my blood into pitch
Too late were my prayers, the trust of a witch.

No angel would come here, the crossroads are damned
No light for the darkest, no hope from the Lamb.
No blessing, no help, deliv'rence denied
The Devil's my outcome, reluctant his bride.

The wind was my refuge, it cooled now my thought
My tongue was on fire for lies I had wrought
The searing of skin and ligaments torn,
The tree held me fast, on nightmares I's borne.

I begged for forgiveness ; the road that I chose
Repented the hate for my fellows and foes,
But naught was the symp'thy, compassion was nil
My pleading was now like the ones I had killed.

The hangman did smite me for wages I owed
And mark of the cursed upon me bestowed
The crossroads eternally I would call home
The night be my maze, my soul in to roam.

So leave ye, my friends, make haste to the Light
The crossing road meets, be not here for Night!
Choose not to waste all the choice you possess
The wrong road at night will result you far less.

Pray, see me this night in the Yew tree on high
I sway and I rock to the withering sky
Please do not linger, the crossroad's to fear,
Beseech I you, leave, for the Devil is here!