Hecate

 

She likes to talk of things mundane
of the sadness that comes with rain

Of the shape that the water takes
articulating how it’s so very innate

How sadness lingers on and stays
as happiness and joy are washed away

How rapturous memories adulterate
yet the ones that hurt never fade

She talks of life, and of death
as if they were one and the same

The boundaries ever blur she says
remarking how death is so very intimate

How she kisses you patient and restrained
the derision in her eyes forever stays

At times she sings her musings depraved
the sinful melody of sacrilege

Takes so much and gives so little away
whispers lies and swears them by Styx

To drink from her lips untamed
a sip of Cocytus and of black nightshade

And no prayers of mercy does she venerate
as she slurps you empty to her wicked sate

Yet the stark innocence somehow remains
of the wicked lady dressed in flames