The Old One/Fairie Queen

The Old One reigns the

Lands of the Fae,

Hidden behind the veil

Between the worlds. 

She is fairie queen,

With flaxen hair and

Dark green eyes,

Dressed in a green

Tunic and a brown belt,

Bare feet in the dewy grass.

The Old One is ageless,

Only her eyes showing

The eternal wisdom that

Seems much beyond her years.

A laurel crown is

Perched on her head, and

Wildflowers are woven

Into her long hair.

She silently rules over

her kingdom of the fairie

Since the dawn of time

Until the end of her reign.

The Map

Folded, worn, creased, torn,

Colors faded at the creases,

Lines disappearing, no borders

In spaces of land masses,

A well-loved map is laid out.

Faded circles around cities

Dreamed to visit one day,

Highways traced in pencil

Between places far apart,

Finding the quickest route,

Memories fill the spaces

Across the map,

Stories told and untold

Between the lines, dots, and borders.

Fingers run over the miles

Traveled back and forth

Across the world, many a trip

Immortalized on the map.

Within the creases

The map holds onto

All my memories of travel,

All the miles trekked,

The snapshots and stories

I will forever hold onto. 

Morrigun

Among the tombs of the dead

She treads, silent as the moon,

Pearly grey fog swirling around her;

It gives her a look of walking

Through thin smoke billowing

In a slow breeze passing by her.

She is an eerie figure,

A shadow moving fluidly through

The dancing, iridescent fog.

She pauses at the crest of the hill,

Waiting for someone to join her.

In the silent night,

She gazes outwards over the tombs,

Unmoving and powerful, patient,

Until a ghost-like figure approaches her,

Standing beside her in reverence.

A moment passes slowly,

Fog rising off the ground,

Smokey and thin tendrils wrapping

Around the two beings on the hill.

They move on down the hill,

Moving between the tombstones

Until they disappear in the fog,

Evaporating with ease into nothingness.