Of the Proselytizers

Beneath the shimmer of russet leaves,
lies a cunning rabbit snare, and
entwining the trees, poison ivy 
blushes crimson. 

Beware the idyllic seeming of the tavern
nearby; the innkeeper steals souls
with a goblet of mead. 
The customers
hold knives, hiding them with smiles.
They invite you to the kirk in the grove
where they flay you with words, oaths,
and ancient spars of wood.

Best to avoid this land, despite the
enticing invitation, the siren song
pitched to the maw of your heart.
Instead, step with sure feet to your destination,
holding yourself in your thoughts. 
Make peace with the wound
in your heart. Know there are many paths
to find blessings.
Photo by Jill Burrow on Pexels.com

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