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  • Writer's pictureTuur Verheyde


Saint Barbara glides across the sea

Arms outstretched groping

The gale for a clue,

A divine chill,

Leading lowly towards the nape.

We worship in star vaults,

In high realms of deep purple;

We wander through cities

Like negatives, built with ink

Black bodies, lined with flickering

White light. We sweat through

Foam and sing through

Tempests. I follow her

Upon the bed of waves,

Panting with the sultry sky

And the horizon dark.

The Goddess comes to us

At night dripping in

Death through our fleeting smiles.

My priestess pulls me

Further towards the open

Sea. She urges us to be

Becoming not confining.

I struggle to let go of my

Self, still doubting

I can go on

Sensing. I tinker with

The tide in desperation.

We sink with speed

And thundering goodbyes.

The Hadal Deep grips us

Tight telling us to learn

The laws of change

Or drown, immovable.

But she, undulating,

Both becoming

Forgives my inertia

And rises with

The moon.

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