The beast is stirring. Do you hear her?
Roaring like war in the middle distance?
Ouroboros consuming her own tail, we
saw her curled and assumed she dreamed,
spanning the globe with her iron grip,
squeezing ever tighter as she slept,
mistook her eternal cycle for a promise,
assumed the promises she made she kept,
missed seeing the signs of life simply suspended.
The beast is waking. Do you hear her?
Hissing and steaming from on high,
Pele’s rapturous rest was interrupted, and
with a great volcanic sigh she stretched and rose,
forked tail unfurling slowly, blotting out the sun,
casting an insidious shadow we didn’t know
would burn rather than freeze, would bring us
to our knees, not to our senses, after all.
The beast is rearing. Do you hear her?
Readying for battle on a field of fire we
refused to quench, a nightmare no one believed
would form again. Friends grow chill and soon
their hatred blossoms into enmity. Enemies’ poison
grows more deadly still. And we, the unprepared,
freeze in her gaze’s glare, we helpless prey,
assuredly the fierce predator’s intended kill.
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: Fantasy Dimentions
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