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.
As change rearranges our psyche,
the ego is to be swallowed whole.
No longer will it control our lives
by creating deep pain and misery,
for as the sun of perpetuity rises,
we awaken to symbolic intuition.
He who renews life to regenerate.
He who faces death several times.
Reversed, you get no change here
as he is horribly stuck in the past,
trapped inside his own la-la land.
A hoarder who keeps everything,
every ticket, book, note of his life,
as well as you, in his jar of hearts.
A living death that kills the spirit,
meets despair and welcomes rats.
As the writer closes winter’s gate,
she knows she must leave behind
yesteryear, open herself to spring,
dance in nature’s circling seasons.
Resist and she will greatly lament,
for hearts are healed in letting go.
The poet must die time after time,
until she meets with Temperance.
Copyright © Deborah Gregory 2016