Icy veins,

and the return of consciousness,

brings with it a sensitivity unmatched,

unmitigated by the fear of retribution.

I can feel your grin,

as you stand behind me,

laughing in the face of what was.

But still I move forward,

Let the shadows fall behind you.”

imagining a better future.

What happens when we dream?

What is the result of our uncaptured thought?

Waking is just another reality,

held tight by the breadth of your smile.

– Savannah

.:Dame de Magie:.

The Cheshire Moon

smiles upon her

Like Fate –

with his crooked grin

and alabaster teeth,

shining eyes made of stars.


the distant call of a raven,

melds well with the softly falling snow,

and a wolf cries,

Solemn and macabre,

shattering the imagery of loneliness.

Dining from empty plates,

dreaming of a life lived freely

Captivated by the hunger of another era,

when all we know,

is the ever-beating heart of

“le Dame de Magie”.


– Savannah



.:Life in Transit:.

Surrounded  by light,

I climb the tower.

With each step,

my limbs grow heavy,

my mind betrays the loneliness

of the weighted days.

Sickness leaves me tired,

hungry, and constrained.

But still I am determined,

until at last, I hear your name.

What was it that we’d agreed upon?

When your hand was still in mine?

Empty promises.” Your words float back to me.

But each day I climb,

blinded by the means.

When I reach the final step,

Your voice I no longer recall.

The past is but a memory,

and I have lived them all.

With each breath I love you still,

and I’m sure, forever will.

The anger in your gaze,

I keep at bay,

behind a mortared wall.

But each day it seems to crumble,

threatening to fall.

Though I do not acknowledge,

the steady creeping images,

they seem to find me

just as sleep releases,

and I know one day

you’ll reappear just to say;

I have lived them all.




When they tell me; “Eat your heart out.”
there’s something in the way
their eyes follow my face,
but I will rise above the flames,
and tear through the fire…

When they tell me; “It’s okay.”
There’s nothing left to say,
’cause the end defines the means
and nothing is as it seems.
Busting through the seams,
are enemies unclean,
and they tell me; “Eat your heart out!”

Somethin’s gotta give,
we’re broken and battered
standing among the blood spatters
and endless foreign matters
are our final and best charade…
But they tell me; “Eat your heart out!”
There’s nothing left to say,
but we will rise above the flames,
tearing through the fire…

Give me one last goodbye?
So I can keep you in my mind,
ending my life in the rites of a funeral pyre
But you tell me; “Eat your heart out.



.:The Armor of Belief:.


The waves crash along a distant shore

and your voice echoes to me

proclaiming things I will never be.

Exclamations of distress follow

as I turn and walk away,

something you had not expected

even on that day.

Believe me when I tell you

your voice still dregs my mind

but in those stolen moments

I no longer leave my peace behind.

Taking each step forth,

a new day dawns.

Soon, I’ll be that much closer

to the Me I knew all along.

Your reputation preceded you,

I’d thought you much more pure,

but it is my Fate that kept me bound,

as the magma to the core.

Rising to the surface,

I know of magic once more.

So beside me, I keep my peace,

and am grateful for each morn’,

and as the days pass,

I know at last,

I shall no more feel scorned.

– Savannah

.:Threefold Goddess:.


I am standing at a crossroads,

my hands lifted to you in praise.

It was you who brought me everything,

when my mind was under a haze.

Stress carries itself, upon heavy shoulders,

eyes downcast and eyelids droopy, tired and dismayed,

You found me when I felt at my worst,

and guided me along my way…

At the crossroad, I bury a gift,

a treasured item held only for a day,

A symbol here, I leave to you, before i turn to walk away.

A sound drifts to me,

a distant howl,

And at last, my journey is complete at home,

Your hand I know I feel,

still guiding me each day, it seems,

and your blessings are surreal.

As though walking in a dream,

it is my faith that brought me here.

Each day I know,

when I come home,

I cross the threshold in gratitude,

and count your blessings anew.

~ 0 ~

Blessed Be, Dear Reader;

Again, a poem written from purely personal experience. When a God or Goddess touches your life, and you feel their blessings in multiple ways, it is hard to deny holding faith in them. While I do not openly express my faith to everyone I meet, I recently began venerating Hecate, and can with surety say that she does not leave you once you reach out to her. Each offering I leave gives me goosebumps, and each day offers new opportunities and blessings. I have reached out to other Gods and Goddesses before, but have never felt their presence with quite the depth I feel Hers to be. It is a wonderful gift, and one I meet with gratitude and happiness each day.

Live life to the fullest, and find something to be thankful for each day 🙂




Lavender, and soap –
The sound of children laughing,
Frogs croaking in a nearby creek,
The feeling of freshly mowed grass between my toes,
The sun, setting atop the mountain peaks,
Bright, silvery moonlight –
casting shadows across
a patch of Earth, tilled and ready for a garden
The bay of an old hound,
White-tail deer – silent and stoic – standing beneath a distant tree,
The persistent creak of a porch swing, decrepit and decaying,
Old books that smell of dust and paper,
The tiny, tart, spring apples from the backyard tree,
Pines as tall as the mountains themselves,
Ancient rocks and shady laurels,

From towering oaks, to the tiny buttercups,

These are all home to me,

And home is where we make it.

Which means,

that lately…

Home is the beautiful brown depth of your gaze,

and the crooked smile of your compassion.

And home is where we make it.


.:Steady, Unsteady:.



The sense of defeat 

is strong.

I feel the press of his gaze,

as through a tide.

Look smaller. Stay quiet.”

One breath,


Let’s see your mettle, girl.

Jumped into the arms of my best friend!’

Everything fights back –

Oh… There’s that fire!

Stoke the flames, boys. She’s finally speaking.”

How could I have jumped… when beneath me was a crevice?

Seek a steady hand, 

or die.

Silly man…

“She’s just a waste of time.”

~                           0                          ~

Speaking from personal experience – 

This poem was written when I was in a dark place, several months ago. I had fallen into a lapse of allowing others to stand up for me. I was weak. I used anger and depression to ‘fight back’ in defense of myself, but it left me numb. I thought self-harm and suicidal tendencies were an out to the hell I’d brought upon myself, purely in my own thoughts. I allowed overthinking to eat away at my life and drag me under.

I left my fiancee of a little over two years, and began dating another man a couple states over. After moving there I discovered several things about myself, and began this blog devoted to poetry and self-expression. I let others’ opinions of me rule what I thought about myself. I sought the wisdom of a newfound friend, and through her tutelage, gained a broader perspective of the world.

Dear Reader,

If you take anything away from the viewing of my poetry, know this: You are worth so much more than words. You are worth more than what others think of you. You are a child of the universe – a soulful shard of the cosmos compacted into a spiritual being. Do not let others’ words, actions, or thoughts devalue what you know of yourself. Stand strongly for what you believe, and what you are. 

Live, and love, with peace.

Blessed be.


.:Ask, Believe, Receive:.


 Don’t dream kindness,

Teach it.

Don’t live in darkness,

Understand it.

Don’t mask yourself in fear,

Grow beyond it.


Step away

 from the negative images, burned in your brain.


the differences in syllables of each thought,

cascading like a waterfall to the forefront of your mind.

Don’t just sit back and accept…


– Savannah

.:The Madness of a Feeble Mind:.

She withered

like the roses, plucked too soon from the vine.

                                                                                But they say,

You know,

the pulpit was to blame.

The daughter of a preacher?

Heavens no!

sinner! A martyr! A martyr?


“Have you no decency?!”


I suppose.

She withered,


like old fruit –

tainted by oxygen.

Then again,

they say,

age is to blame.

The daughter of a harlot?

Heavens no!

A martyr! A martyr! A saint!

Decency, have you?

Not at all!

A saint?

But they say,

You know,

The Apothecary is to blame.

Or perhaps the age?

The pulpit!

Daughter of a preacher?

Heavens no!

A martyr!


But age is to blame –

Its mask always the same –

Plain behind the planes of an ill-begotten face.

Woe tides thee, Saint.

Hail to the Preacher,

what kept his daughter, a martyr.