Wiccan
© Black Tangled Heart

I am not a messenger of Satan

(he does not whisper in my ear, his scarlet tongue

caressing my alabaster neck)

I do not believe in demons

(I am not controlled by the smouldering flames of hell

No such place exists, beneath the thin membrane

Of our precious foliage and velvet flowers)

And still you think I'll set fire to the world

Or with a snap of my guitarist fingertips

Turn your obese body into that

Of a fiery-skinned newt with beady obsidian eyes

You assume I am a cannibal

Tearing the flesh of my own kind and swallowing fractured bone

and thick sinew

or that I slaughter animals in worship of a twisted God

(you'd be surprised to learn that meat does not

pass my gloss-smeared lips)

I exist with nature in harmony, embracing

Roses and their thorns

(I do not hex those who hate me

they are simply branded with the thought that

all magick possesses an element of darkness)

The lady in her stained blue apron who holds

Up her King James Bible and yells

Herself hoarse about the devil

Doesn't know that her neighbour celebrates

Samhain tonight, our new year set on a crisp

All Hallows Eve

(with me and our close friends underneath a purple

star-clotted sky)

We sing and laugh together, our voices a warm reassurance

(hands and hugs and hearts and healing)

Surrounded by sweet incense and blessing even the foulest

Of creatures with goodness and peace