The poet wrestles the lusty old goat,
not a creature living outside herself,
but the evil, perverted spirit within.
Chained to this all-father archetype
she chooses money over happiness,
where cash buys her sex and power.
Where her wild, hedonistic appetite
eats up the world, yet loses the soul.
With one foot stood in each world,
in each word, the poet gains poise.
For as both golden chalices decant
opposing spirits, a third is created.
This divine task cannot be hurried
until temperance, an angel of time,
opens wide the soul’s celestial eye,
to midwife the birth of wholeness.
After thirteen cycles of the moon,
the enigmatic horseman rides in.
Death, life’s constant companion,
arrives in fetching black armour,
displaying the mystic white rose.
Remaining absolutely victorious,
insensitive to age, race or gender,
he harvests the souls of the dead.
Intent on finding her spiritual self
the poet presses the pause button,
a dazzling and dreamlike moment.
Hung upside down from one foot,
her standing in the world changes.
Suspended, she pauses till rebirth,
shadowing the pregnant darkness,
knowing she must die unto herself.