Cadaverous Hands Of Cloaked Psychopomps

Within my own selfish need to complete the Great Work

My metaphorical quintessence calls to be heightened 

For me to conjure spells and light incenses of Hermetic origin

As elements of myself are gracefully extinguished

I begin to brew many aromatic potions and arcane elixirs

And immaculately construct my rebis for it to be resurrected 

I continue to toss and turn anxiously upon my deathbed

Even as I cast an odorous enchantment upon my pillows

To calm my breath and slow my heart rate

Disguised under the saccharine smell of lavender

As it evokes memories of my childhood backyard…

A four-foot-tall century plant, a rose garden, an apple tree

A lavender bush covered in hundreds of worker bees

Pollinating and socializing in a sensationally vibrant biome

But yet I’m nervously aching amongst the blankets

Continuing to yearn for a solution to calm my nerves 

For what was once but a childhood memory 

Has left but a horrid, medicinal sting in my sinuses

Consequently, I must heed the call to finish the Great Work

As its hermaphroditic beauty continues to stand uncontested 

Amongst my collections of ancient amulets and tomes

So I will proceed to shake the cadaverous hands of cloaked psychopomps uninterrupted

As I readily await the subsequent ascent of my katabasis

Because I have simply yet to be reawakened

© Niklen 11/1/23