Beauty: Poetry

I stumbled
through the Garden,
shivering in an 
Autumn wind 
full of leaves and chill


Searching for a father
who had set off on a
course of Alchemy
through the Major Arcana

I am now the Fool,
lost in the Twilight
and hearing the wolves
howling in the distance,
waiting for me to utter the
last breath I have to give


Yet there,
I spy a castle,
enchanted abode 
of stone and glass,
a relic of  Cornwall
down to the Latin
inscribed along The Path


And I shiver here
before the great manse
seeking sanctuary for
weary bones and a
vexed mind


I start down the dark
cobblestones towards
its doorway.
marked with a 
plague reading "105"


Yet I've not gone far
before my footsteps
falter over the 
gnarled roots
of a massive Tree


Sobbing now,
so weary,
I lay three wishes
at its base,
asking The Guardian
for the knowledge
to make them real


Yet when I've ended 
my torrential weeping,
I find that I am not alone:
A cloaked Crone
stands beside me 
with a lantern
and a book

"Come, Child,"
she says,
"You've lingered
here long enough."


She leads me towards
the door ahead of
the encroaching Night.

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