by Nick Gisburne
The pagan’s chalice, burnished black with pride,
Is primed with pearls and seven shapes of stone.
Discovering her deadly, darker side,
She kisses, twice, a necromantic bone.
With cryptic cards no witch would ever doubt,
She deals a demon’s promise from the deck.
Her curses catch the secrets spilling out,
And fill the sacred scarab at her neck.
With verses crossed and counted, three times three,
A twisted whisper seals the spells inside.
Petitioning the gods to hear her plea,
She begs to know what mysteries they hide.
Beyond her dreams, beyond her wildest wish,
She sees the gods in all their glory: fish.
