The Last Siren

Sometimes I wonder how things might have been, if I’d never heard the last siren sing, before I did take my very last breath, and was dragged through the sea to my home in its depths.

Sometimes I wonder where I was belonged, did I have wife? Did I live alone? For now there is no one far under the sea, except for the siren there is only me.

Sometimes I wonder how long I’ll remain, in this place where each day is one and the same, I cry out to the ships but I’m always too late, the siren has sung, and has sealed their fates.

My cries are drowned out but her beautiful song, its heart it is cold and its notes are all wrong, so I bow my head low, and softly do weep, enough to replace all the salt in the sea.

The bones they lay silent but I must live on, Poseidon has saved me, who knows for how long, and so I will lay on my bed made of sand and dream of the day I return to the land.

I plead to Poseidon if you love me so, if you truly love me then please let me go, you’ve given me life, but a life I can't live, I owe you a debt that I never can give. And then from the deep, I heard the Gods voice, it called from the blackness and gave me a choice, if you wish to return to the land of your kings, then all I demand is that first you must sing.

And so for ten years as ships would arrive, I would sing them a song and ensure they’d survive, in the name of Poseidon I sang them a song, its heart it was warm and the notes they rang strong, and the river gods daughter did rue the cursed day, that she dragged down my crew to their watery grave. With nothing to eat she starved and she died, and now there is only Poseidon and I

My lonesome ten years were all said and done, Poseidon he held me and called me his son, my promise fulfilled I swam up through the sea, I crashed through the waves and escaped from the deep. 

And softly I sleep knowing never again, will a man be drowned by the side of his friends, at least not by a monster far under the sea, once there was a siren and then there was me.

Witch Women

Which women does society praise? 

The ones with no graves consumed by the flames?

Or the ones who have accepted their supposed place as nothing but slaves...

Like clay to be moulded their lives were unfolded and yet we stand solemn with nothing to say. 

Monstrous monasteries committed acts of atrocity but they carry no guilt for they say they were following God’s policy.

A policy man implemented, and cemented in our brains to give power to the man when we we’re all one and the same I do not accept it. 

I simply seek to peacefully correct it because women have been my saviour, my creator, thus I am indebted with my life.

She is creator not just wife.

She is our maker yet we forsake her and then strip her sacred naked body of all its basic human rights this is a fight

Some say it is a fight I will not win but I refuse to inhabit a world where paedophiles say I have sinned. 

Where the sun is forced to hide in shame until filthy men want for its warmth again and something as sacred as summer rain is forced to endure such awful pain.

No, witch women are the women I praise.

Find them collecting the ingredients to forge a brighter day.

Finding them chanting unknown words in a lost forgotten place.

Where the mother of all others silently, patiently, waits.

Mythos