15 May 2012
My mother always warned me
Not to go near gypsy folk
Such as her, but I could not ignore
The strange old maid who spoke
Of mystery and sorcery,
All manner of ghoulish things
Of which a young girl like myself
Should never think nor dream.
'Come in my child and let me show you
How your life is planned,'
She welcomed me, the haggard crone
With claw-like, outstretched hands.
'The Lord, he is a wily one
No better than The Snake.
He doesn't want you see his plan,
The paths that you will take.'
She laid out cards and oracles
While I breathed her in,
Incense thick upon the air
And oil lamps softly dimmed.
Skeletons and piercéd hearts,
Dances with the hoofed,
Tambourines and hanging men
Who once stood so aloof,
The punished and the innocent,
Mingling as the damned
Who flitted all about me
Like mirages over sands.
Now a crystal cage encases me
For not heeding Mother's cries,
So flee now, I implore you,
Before you catch Meg's eye.
Meg • Opuss № I