When It Arrives
I will not blush for death
or bend my head in fear.
My hands will light a fire instead;
ignite the blaze upon the pyre.
Then rising from my burning bed
I will stand engulfed in flames
that consecrate my very blood
until I rise in swaying bands
of color dancing in the north.
A shooting star will mark the trail
where I will whisper in the void
the tales that penetrate your bones
our ancient roots and songs and spells.
And when my light has left your eyes,
then you will fall upon your knees
in honor of the gift bestowed
of blood and family secrets told.
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