I had a conversation with God.
I saw Her essence in the cold night sky.
She listened as I apologized
for forgetting who I was for so long.
She sent an embrace on the moonlight
that I was smiling into, eyes closed,
and I whispered Her name to the stars.
Seven brothers born of blood,
three times straw and four times mud.
Metal woes and heathen ears,
steed of fire flanks the rear.
Goddess true, She of olde,
watches, mourning He too bold.
Within the mist from which She peers,
silent falls the golden tear.
Three of two and one to lead,
Falter not unto thine greed.
Steady is the heart’s desire,
failing not within the fire.
Maine Moon 