A Poem for Eostre

Eostre, a time to worship the sun, when ascension has begun. It is a time of fertility, but like egg shells, a time of fragility. We pray for a fruitful year, and honour Isis, the seer, to rid us of the crisis we call crucifixion. When we self sacrifice, it is not an honourable act, but shows a pact, we made with our soul, denying it something we worship today called Sol.

Image by Charlotte Self

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