When I wake up,
it is void.
Then the room
unfolds around me –
a cold stroke of reality.
It brushes my skin,
crawling up my legs,
slowly warming as it spreads.
A hand, unseen,
caresses reality
into my chest.
It straddles me,
then softly grips my neck.
The pulse in my ears – slow –
becomes the drums of war,
calling a name:

Ishtar.

It’s time.
Breathe for me,
sweat for me.
Let the footsteps
of your fight
feed the ground.
Soak it in my will –
become my altar.
Your sword
bears my truth.
Crescent moons –
my mark –
cover your back.
Eight-pointed stars –
my sign –
won’t leave you in the dark.