O listen, stars,
O hush now, trees
Let the wind carry the name,
They tried to erase.
Born of dusk and wild honey,
Born of fire and fog and heartbeat,
Born Eros before I had a name to fight for it.
I. The Ghost of Rejection
My mother looked at me,
As if I were a ghost wearing her child’s face.
My father turned away,
Shame in his hands,
Tyranny on his tongue.
The village whispered like knives behind closed doors.
They said I was unnatural.
Possessed.
Touched by devils.
And so they cast me out.
Not with fire and stone,
But with silence,
With the sharp blade of shame,
Hiding in every sideways glance.
There was no room for me,
I was unnameable.
Unredeemable.
An echo they refused to hear.
I had no place.
Not even hell would hold me.
Too queer to be damned properly,
Too wild to be saved.
They did not exile me to punish me.
They exiled me,
To pretend I never was.
To sent me into death.
As if Eros could never be.
II.The Exiled Eros
As a child, I was the curve of desire unspoken,
Not boy, not girl,
But the kiss between
Wolf-fang and moonbeam,
Fire and dew.
They saw me and feared what could not be caged.
What could not be defined.
What could not be burned away.
They called it exile.
They called it wrong.
But I was Eros in skin and ache,
The holy shimmer between all things.
Cast from the hearth,
From blood,
From bread,
I wandered the wilderness,
That once cradled shamans and wild deer.
III. The Meeting with Artemis
And there,
Under thornlight and starsong,
She found me. Artemis.
Huntress of the liminal heart,
Virgin and storm,
She saw me not as sin,
But as sacred kin.
At fourteen, I bled for her.
At fourteen, I rose with her.
Years turned like rivers.
Pain sang through my bones like wind through reeds.
Until the day came,
When the sacred flame blazed again.
IV. The Rite of Blood
Wolf-Apollo,
Brother of prophecy and plague,
You called me from the sunlit edge of ruin.
You saw my fever, my music,
My shadowed grin.
My exiled state.
And you did not turn away.
And you, wild mother, Feronia,
Goddess of liberation and sacred groves,
You held my exile as a rite.
You broke the chains with fern and fang.
You gave me back to myself.
V. The Love of Nyx
You held me with Divine Lucia Nyktelios,
Non-dual Goddess of Compassion.
Holding the fragmented parts of me.
The dismembered child, and its grief.
The grief of the divine feminine.
The shared grief of a child cast out.
To dissolve into the love of Nyx,
A death before death, to kindle Life.
And so I name myself now,
Not as they named me.
But as I was forged in wild flame:
SylwenVI. Child of the Gods
Child of Artemis and Apollo,
Child of Feronia’s fierce embrace,
Not man. Not woman.
The flame in between.
I am the reborn.
I am the remembering.
I am the queer axis the old world feared.
So let the priests tremble.
Let the chains rust.
Let the lost children find me,
And see their own reflection,
In my howl.
VII.The Crown of Wildness
I am the flame of Eros that burned up hell.
I am the flame that illuminated suffering.
The sacred flame of love and integration.
For I am no longer exiled.
I am crowned,
By moonlight and pine,
By foxes and wolf born flame.
Vessel of Most Sacred Phanes,
Queer Androgynous Creator,
They who Birth Light from Dark.
Source of Life beyond dualities,
The Lord of One and the Many.
I am Eros born of the Abyss.
Queer Flame, Night-Born, Death-Cloaked.
The Wolf of the Goddess.
The Sovereign of the Abyss.
The Sacred Child of Nyx.
