Could this be our last night?

1cc29eb24a0da26a6b29e70ffc344b9f Feeling the impending distance, giving you what you want. Just because this could be your last breath, it’s not over – we will never be broken. You called to me from another dimension while I told you I was poison, the bad girl about which you were warned. In pieces and pain, not concerned with any who may hate me. Eyes half closed, numbed with plenty of drugs. I was everybody’s friend, but nobody’s fool. Forever and always, it will be three in the morning; our essence as one merging – lost within the heat we create and forgetting the coldness of the outside world.


(C) 2016 Corva De Obsidiana



Whispers image for WP

The easily swayed, becoming puppets of play; seduced by youth and disabled from presences felt.
Each part stolen,
claimed by energy
and made stronger
with a kiss of
impending death.
By Raven (c) 2016
*An excerpt from my upcoming book of prose
Thank you for reading
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The Tripartite

The Tripartite
Morrighan, a warrior Goddess of Battle; the Phantom Queen. Patron of revenge, night, priestess, witches, and prophecy. Strength flows through veins as strife. An ancient Irish Goddess of Death, giving violent and bloody premonitions of rioters end of life. Wailing the cries of the Bane-Sidhe, her and her sisters Badha and Macha, forming Morrigu` the triple Goddess three. Born of Ernmas, the Mother Goddess, these her second set of ternary. Springs of craftiness and bitter fights, holding the legacy of their Grandfather King Nuada while siblings worship them, and men fall at their feet.
Known as “Washer of the Ford” a wonder about the deserted streams. Washing the blood of one bound to see their grave. A passerby will witness the crone with an evil heart and eye full of laughter, and she will wail her hollowed deathly cry. His bodily claret shall run cold, death impending as has been foretold. Never can he escape, for one of the three is the Goddess of fate. Cruor, they all crave and his head upon a plate.
In a meadow of darkened forest night, crisp cold air sends shivers down a spine. Cuchulainn knelt by the river’s stream, Morrighan sees the man of whom she dreams. Taking human form of pure dark beauty, her long hair flowing and melding against the shadowy forest night. He, blinded by concupiscence for aqueous of sanguine bathed upon his sword, challenging the Goddess of war. The love she was offering turned to disdain with words of insult he spoke forever sealing his destiny. Raising his drawn blade and rushing the seemingly delicate frame, her thunderous voice spoke as she foretold doom to befall. Mere seconds before reaching the target of rage, the womanly form became a Raven and his shadowed heart dejected with understanding of what was done.
Screaming wails were heard from all around, every man’s heart fell – courage fear as the evil sounds of death neared the field of battle. Morrighan began speaking and the words inciting the beginning of bloodshed and the first record of the Bane-Sidhe.
Upon arrival of Cuchulainn, the hate-filled soul she had cursed to die this day he dismounted the steed, blood pumping with such intensity, his limbs full of strength and energy and mind sharp with strategy. Clinking of swords and blood-curdling cries from the impaled awaiting the finishing blow to die. Gore soaked the soil as Morrighan took the field, calling to her sisters to form Morrigu`, the Triple Goddesses that all knew. Weapons drawn from each sister and the vengeance enjoyed by every soul’s departure. Arrows rain from both sides of the campaign causing agony and pain, indefensible while engaged in melee to protect the land they claimed. Nothing touches Morrighan, Badha, or Macha; immortal and hold the title of Death incarnate.
Fatality awaits while he fights with struggle against his opponent Morrighan strengthens to crush. Each swing tires Cuchulainn as never antecedently, will weakened by the image of fire in her eye and a face changing to venom, cursing demise. Arms stretched high guarding each against strike – the sheer power in his opponents’ might caused a slip of footing and then, the predicted plight… cold piercing of steel tearing at warm flesh and another blade to a glabrous throat. ‘Tis this the feel of death? Choking on his bitter blood as the words she uttered linger in mind, laying upon the motherland, alone and dying. Eyes fog and start to blur, the form of a woman walking slowly comes near, in fluid gesticulation; the woman he brutally shunned, he reaches for with one arm outstretched. Taking to flight on wings of a raven she lands upon his shoulder and the last breath escapes his chest, and his enemies knew it was his death. Shriek of Raven heard the whole island over, becoming legend of the now known and feared Bane Sidhe, marking the deaths his descendants will face by her prophecy. Goddesses of dark and death, trust not what you think to understand, what they say is the law of the land.
Many forms can be taken, but a raven can inspire courage or fear over any battlefield of hatred, seen to be watched over by the Triple Goddess Morrigu` awaiting to summon slain soldiers to a macabre spectral bane. Called upon by Lug to give them strength against the Formorians, asking of the trio what shall they bring to assist he. Morrighan responded, hate in eyes and fire gleamed from her insides. We shall instill courage of the ancestors to invigorate each of your men and deepen the terror of those who oppose. My sisters and I will pursue, subdue, and destroy all that stand against you. Utterance of her spell and war began, the force of Formorians are driven over the cliff and into the sea. Morrighan chants of victory then gives her deadly end prophecy to all who are listening.
“I shall not see a world that will be dear to me. Summer without flowers, kine will be without milk. Women without modesty, men without valor, captures without a king. Woods without mast, sea without produce. Wrong judgments of old men, false precedents of Brehons, every man a betrayer, every boy a reaver. Son will enter his father’s bed, Father will enter his son’s bed, Everyone will be his brother’s brother-in-law. An evil time! Son will deceive his father, daughter will deceive her mother.”
All stunned by powerful authority not knowing what to make of this daunting prophecy, the field was cleared, and the Trinity began collecting the heads of fallen for euphemistically, an acorn crop of the Morrigu. Misty fog of cold ocean chill collecting the dead in full moon night, singing their tune for the Bards to spread, horrifying the children in their midnight dread. Taking blood stained dead of gore and terror to the next incantation. Having watched all the lives to fall, deciding each who’d answer the call. Feeding the land of green, fertilizing for the next of life to raise in mother Goddesses name, Ernmas.
All have purpose in life even those who are of darkness and strife, to be the end to mere mortal and usher in a new breed of blood who smells of their ancestry. Being the Goddesses who walk the barrows, a much-revered band of Bane Sidhe, and the Washer of the Ford, who foretells prophecy. This is why all Witches and Priestesses call in the night, seeking revenge in the name of Morrigu. Once called upon it’s irrevocable and will take lives of all named, restoring balance of whom was victimized, murdered, and defamed. Bloodthirsty vengeance enacted, protecting all who worship the Morrigu, chanting the invocation of Morrighan, Macha, and Badha shall be forever under safeguard by action.
The Triple Goddesses, a symbol of strength and independence for all women. A moon of three signals your love and devotion to nature’s order of death through life. Honor your protectors by shrine. A bowl symbolizing the holding of life, blood within shows the giving of apotheosis in life, a single raven feather as the chosen form that personifies the Goddesses. Finally, a crimson cloth giving exaltation for the Washer of the Ford. All of these give the respect to our protecting tripartite, the Phantom Queens of immortality.
By Corva De Obsidiana (Raven)
All rights reserved 2016