The Queen Of The Night Poem by Marc Creamore

I stretch my arms to the scented candle of the moon,
hear the echo of a voice that leads me
to the sometimes forgotten pond of my mind
where I am comforted by the ripening voices
of the owl and the tree frog.

Oh daughters of lunar reverie, oh maidens
of spirituality’s often ignored womb...
come bless me this night with the essence
of holy motherhood, caress me with the ancient
fingers of a gentle crone,
sooth my fading body,
allow me to erase all my internal battles,
all the mistaken premises where I misplace
my own inner light inside a door
that only feed my dark impulses.

Oh may I be cleansed, washed clean
of all misleading states of artificial rapture,
all embellishments that only close my senses,
the hunger that I often place to one side
of wisdom’s altar.
May I sleepwalk past those days that are only
the shadows, the dance macabre of a human soul
stuck inside biological trappings.

Oh allow me to swim with phosphorescent tadpoles,
because I have felt the moisture of creation
lick my ancient face.
Allow me to experience the intrinsic quality
of the feminine principle
for I need to loosen the chains imposed
upon my be-ing by the memory of ill advised
masculinity.

Oh I stretch my arms to the scented candle of the
moon and wait to be embraced and soothed
by the Queen of the Night.