Cusp of Power

Wide eyed, helpless he gazed through his new mother’s entranced steel-grey orbs. The cosmos mirrored in the sacred water on this Samhain night, bathed in magically majestic blood moon. Reflected as it was in both their souls; ripples through stars, each one a gift. A single birth and death on the very cusp of the veil, a perfect way to live forever. Thought the power-hungry young witch.

Laoghaire’s meticulous scheme to dispatch and consume the making of her body, radiant new life, was in veracious ritual motion, void emotion. Mothers natural selection.

The tiny infants body wriggled, gagged and choked; crystal fresh water, stars and planets rushed down his throat. The deep iridescent fairy pool of sparkling emeralds consumed new life with the boundless universe. Laoghaire’s fevered eyes drank in every detail of her secret sacred bairn.

An exchange with the realms of darkness, immaculate life for multifarious transcendent power.

© Natasha Sinclair. 2019.

Damaged Goods


Discarded; damaged goods.

The lone whore bore foul, tainted, bastard fruit.

Shunned while still stunned from her whalers desertion.

Black lamb of the snow-white flock.

Abandoned for the call of the sea; another she.

Betty bid to follow suit with that ill seeded fruit.

As waves began to pour down her choking throat; peace called in tortured unforgiving song.

The final forbidden promise.

Lungs of fire burning; as blackened shadow blotted the sun.

A selfish rescue placed her back in hell; pulled from the mother’s largest well.

Need the ruined to give rest their good grace; a blinding disgrace.



© Natasha Sinclair. 2019.

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