ft. Calypso: The Hidden Tide

A manifestation cloaked in mystery. Philosophical and ethereal. Mystical and otherworldly. A Cosmic Queen. Honestly, we don’t have a clue what to make of her yet. She is not quiet wisdom; she is cacophonous truth.

Calypso: The Hidden Tide

Before Island Sage,
She harbored secrets of men
Who lure and leave Siren
Both songs and the sin.

Raging “Goddess of Love,”
She wove ache into hymns,
Releasing the tide 
He’d created to swim
Home toward his Parish.
           They rush quick to condemn
     Those their hero’s homecoming
     Left stripped bare to the skin.
Should she speak,
      Should she weep,
            She should meet Swiftly End.
Because Hell is for Tellers
And forgiveness for him.
            Her Penance: Choose Silence
            Over the Violence of Pen.
			Remind her the timer’s hands
                        All meet the same end,
		        And over Vengeance v. Blood
                        Vigil Justice Presides,
	                        Pretending the Pendulum
                                Isn’t pinned to a side
                                        Yet knowing full well–
                                 When noose needs a head,
Only boys will be boys,
			         But the girls can be dead.

With witch as the trickster,
He is victor content 
To ship-wreck the vessel
He took pleasure within
Before scrapping the boards
To make war from her love.
When he paints her the villain,
Watch the village bring clubs.
But if pirates can plunder,
She’ll, in fairness, undress
What he treasured in darkness
That he’ll never confess.
  
Fools love when the Siren’s 
Emerald green on the vine,
Forgetting how bitter her fruit
Tastes as wine.

        For the Women Aged Brazen,
                       Wicked Wisdom’s a Well,
	And the Truth is a Diamond
	A dime-a-dozen could Sell.
			For Our Heavenly Heathens,
			Save the blackest of Spells.
             Shriek, “The rebels are coming
			For the Angels of Hell.”

Yes, the Coven is Speaking:
	Operation
        Bomb-Shell
        Begins.

	If Your Truth is a Weapon,
		 Blood-spilt ink pays the rent.
	Join the Front Lines of Sirens.
                                 Let Revolution Offend.

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