Updated: Aug 23, 2021
Hymn For a Valkyrie in Battle
It is said that the Valkyries have spilled their tears where and only where Queens of Night grow.
If you have learned to thank the trees for their shade, you know
that transmutation is a complex magic.
A slow unfolding of events
watered with tearshed and fertilized with table scraps
is occurring and
at the center of it, the queen of night:
a rosary of unholy intent and hammered moonlight.
Somewhere in the center of the thing
a flower waits to be a flower,
which is to say worth more
than the dirt it was planted in.
Somewhere a steady diet
of watery moonlight and fresh blood,
the not-yet queen,
a love song written on the skin of the night,
her perfume hanging in the air
with all the imposition of a noose.
In our own way we worship.
We practice intoxication,
water the someday Queen’s roots with offerings
of glitter and dark liquor.
We fit our finest violins with heartstrings
and play songs of syrup and honey to the fledgling shoots in the key of
We genuflect before the almost queen’s
pass a ceremonial lachrymatory from left to right
until our cup runneth over
holy and hateful grief,
the thief of all things wild and free.
We weep chlorophyll, bleed
stigmata at the threshold of the tomorrow-Queen of Night’s chambers
the night of her coronation,
stand fast before the tides of the damned
when at last, the ivory bells ring
and subjects gather singing in the streets:
Salve Regina Nocte,
amalgam of fury and temperance.
in the cathedral of your heart
amongst its vaulted ceilings and hidden rooms.
Teach me not to suffer in silence.
Turn my leaden tongue to gold so I may filigree your holy name upon my teeth.
Note From The Author
once upon a time I wrote this poem for a woman i loved.