Is this a battle for my soul?
To go down in the fires of reckoning, or somehow grow wings to rise above the flames?
To be loss embodied, grief personified, or to open my heart wide to be emptied enough to hold more light.
To be wild as the night or tame as the day rallied up and chained by the Great Taking.
To become foreign to myself, alien to what I know.
Lay myself on the altar and bleed to be more than this: a worthy feast with no parting kiss.
An offering of enough size to let the hungry gods swallow the light.
Or to fight for life and dance with death along the way.
To understand the gift of every day in the fragility of becoming the rose without thorns.
To find purpose and meaning in loving without adornments. No gilding for my rough edges.
No paint to hide the colors of origin. No red for roses without the blood of the lamb.
For the price is high for the will of man.
To be the sun, or the daughter-the moon. To be friend to the end we all know is soon to come.
To make space for more grace to reign, only if she wins first place in the race for time.
But who can know the mind of the Divine when we are all just trying to survive?
The little deaths are a gift when they show us what it means to live, and it’s not what we thought.
For there is always a cost for what we want, and even for what we need,
so what will I let die today, that I may know the price of being free?
Copyright © Sheyorah Naify, 2021
Art: Norn Fates by Julie Bell