Hades in my throat, be ware. A splendid stag stands frozen in my chest, if he doesn’t summon his devil. He can see you before arrival, you shouldn’t bother him with pettiness, what your constant boredom comes up with. Its not our fault you can’t fill in the void, not our making that you’re mental machines like to stir up the waters, scared to death you might find yourself accountable.
My horned animal stands behind me, it doesn’t appreciates strangers who assume or familiars who insist on doing so. We have a road, we’re not idle, its our nature to stand guard, tricksters believe themselves entitled, by some imagined privilege. Not here, we know you’re running from something or deflecting with a broken mirror, you cannot see the forrest and its messengers all about.
My stag is nervous now, you should stop taking up our time, or pretending to be logical. Your’e damaged, just see it in the full brightness of the moon, as she peeks through the clearing, on a quiet night, then breathe and weep accordingly. We are so stern here in these woods, not one of us will soften reality for you, and yet, you might find it silly after a while, it was all about nothing.
Here lives real beauty, dark as deep green, cool as a mossy hide away, silent and full of meaning, disciplined yet kind. You might be welcome if and when honesty sheds old skin, sobriety glows like an ancient moon in your eye, when you offer your pain as a new chant for all. We lead with quiet devotion, our sanctuary isn’t glamorous or golden, but elegant and ancient; here lies your soul retrieval.