A poem dedicated to Bacchus
Today I meet my death.
Looking into its eyes, I know it.
It is me.
The old me,
In danger of rotting
Before my purpose is fulfilled.
In danger of stagnating,
Not letting the heart flow
Like rivers of blood onto parched soil.
Today, the sickle swings,
cutting me down at the knees,
Felling me to return to the Mother.
Felling me to serve the people.
Purging me of imperfection.
As I enter the Underworld.
I shall not fear!
I embrace the process of transformation,
That tomorrow I may be born again,
A more whole and perfect servant of the Divine!
I direct intention toward manifesting my full potential.
As above, so below.
And the Wheel Turns.