- by Emily Cordes | Writing | 2ktwelve.com

Luna Primavera - by Emily Cordes

Lady,
are you lonely
as the world teems beneath you?
Even now,
star-crowned,
an opalescent bride
bearing ripe fruits
and lush open blossoms,
can you sense the chill
sparkling in the ember’s core?
Lady,
do you mourn him?
The white petals strewn
–yielding, fleshlike–
upon your grassy bed
portend the coming snows.
You feel his body, warm against yours
like making love to the sun itself,
becoming corpse-cold,
slowly dissolving under your touch.
Do you hear his last gasp
echoed in the shuddering breaths
or a keening dirge
in your cries of ecstasy?

Lady,
do you fear it?
The bliss so long awaited,
the sweetness so desired
crumbling, cremated on your lips?
He dies and rises by your hand,
as your web enjoins us all,
binding even as it embraces.

But can you read your story,
ever beginning, ever ending,
inscribed among these heavens?
A tale of saplings
growing from blasted stumps
and the dying flame
rekindled in your womb.

For you are the White Lady:
Death is your bride-price,
but rebirth is your vow.

(Author's Note: Inspired by a play I performed in for the Pagan holiday of Beltane)