My Gwynhyfar

That feeling that you feel
Tonight is me.
That grip about your loins,
That slip your heart feels when it beats,
For you've withheld your hymns to
The White Goddess.

In your fear of stuttering,
You seized a passing whim,
A pout disguised as meditation
Without the muttering,
But a stammering silence.
You begrudge,
And have robbed the words
Of Love for
The White Goddess.

So I have come to do her bidding,
The suffering servant,
As ghoulish mare,
And if you were to come
And look
Outside your window,
I am there
Throwing shadows at you
From the trees,
Whispering,
"You can run,
But you can never leave
The White Goddess."

-jenn