Typing to a Tyet
Oh, Great of Magik, Lord of the Skies, Mother of Gods, Divine Mourner, The Wise One,
I'm such a prudish, arrogant, selfish, cowardly, insensible, disgraceful fool
To seek your blessings, to crave your guidance, to yearn your healing,
When in turn I have nothing but my shallow words and unworthy heart to offer
When I overlooked the path to peace and signs of decay within my temple
When I let myself fall without grace through the webs of destiny and
Spiral along the coiled chaos that is ever maddening.
Oh, Distant and Untouchable, such veil is the cocoon
I have chosen to encase my being to detach and to stray, to be a
Wandering lost kitten that has their fur illy groomed, skin flaking off,
Eyes dulled and lifeless, no longer loved or able to love.
Oh, to dwell in the comfort of my intimate suffering
Is to bet on borrowed time of the ones who unconditionally love me!
Yet my head space, my head space, it has been entombed for too long, has it not?
But I cannot be that, for I am still mortal, still in my rug and earthly flesh,
Still struggling, still trying, still bashing my hard skull against the cushions of
My psyche, my prison.
Oh, Isis of the Hellenistic, Auset of the Kemetic,
I'm such a prudish, arrogant, selfish, cowardly, insensible, disgraceful fool
To seek your blessings, to crave your guidance, to yearn your healing,
To not shut up about my short-comings...