The Virago’s Last Candor

As the holy fire’s embers sting my eyes

I weep tears of sorrow and anticipation.

Just as the pungent odor of burnt flesh fills my lungs

Making me choke in disgust.

I don’t care if they don’t believe me

Or even if they lash out with venomous words of fear

Because I know the truth, they’re right.

Magic does run through my veins.

But it is NOT evil or a gift from Beelzebub.

My magic is much older and stems from my ancestors.

As in the women before me, who also refused to be damsels in distress

And instead took up swords and wooden spoons

To become warriors, queens and mothers.

It is their power that I draw on

And it is their power that makes me just as formidable and brave

As I am fragile and reserved

A perfect marriage of brawn and beauty

And that is why others fear me.

They know that once mastered, my power could change the world.

Which is why in this case, the truth will not set me free.

Just like my fellow sisters,

I am now being returned to the divine mother

But unlike the others whose lights were snuffed by the rope’s cruel clasp

I am purified through fire.

Its flames burning off my corporeal chains releasing my goddess within.

And even after all this torment and liberation,

I still have no regrets.

If given the choice, I’d proudly speak up again

For it’s time for the magic in all women to awaken

Just as mine did.