The Hanging Maiden
She hangs Paramount within vision,
Glowing and glamourous.
Hushed and quiet within her omnipotence, she is the Focus point of the Primordial Instinct.
The howl of the wolf, The cry of the wild...
She is the all encompassing.
I watch the edges of darkness fade before her stary confines, and my world fades into the realms of fantasy and the
surreal.
She is the pregnant mother, the beastial instigator and the Hanging Maiden.
She is the over watcher and the Filler of the void.
The Dark and shade stand at bay, trembling before her iridescent fury, banished to the edges of awareness by her
auroric presence.
I watch her at night, laid upon the lengths of a porch or a plate of wooden planks. Watching her opulent yet humble
being stream the world with her Benevolence.
She is the Primordial Instinct within us all. She is the one that you gaze upon, when the world seems down. She is life,
and promise. She is hope.
I watch.
And smile.
Return
