Image by James DeMers
Sometimes the muse returns unannounced, and all one can do is follow where it leads. Here’s a story/poem for those who’ve ever walked through shadows with their head held high. May it reach whoever needs it, in whatever way they need it.
The Shadow of the Serpent 🐍
Once upon a time, in a land where wisdom and hard work were held in high regard, there was a garden hidden behind high stone walls. Only the chosen few were allowed in.
She had been one of them — by merit, by intellect, by the strength of her honest labor.
But not everything in the garden was as pure as it seemed.
Among the flowers, a serpent lay hidden:
It slithered silently, approached like a friend,
But only struck when it found her vulnerable.
This serpent had entered the garden long before she had.
At first, it acted like a guide.
Then it began whispering from the branches,
Gradually tightening its grip --
Telling others what to share, when to stay silent, when to fear.
For a time, the young woman couldn’t see the game.
She was honest.
She wasn’t used to enemies who smiled as they poisoned.
But one day, the veil lifted from her eyes.
The garden was no longer hers. The poison had spread too far.
So she chose to leave — to root herself in another soil,
And grow where light could reach her again.
The serpent? It remained behind.
Trapped in the echo of its own venom.
Now and then it twitched its tail, hissed from afar,
Still trying to stir the leaves, to incite the others.
But its voice could no longer pass through her.
She had learned to see it.
To recognize its shadow,
To sense the truth behind its whisperless lies.
She had seen it clearly --
And a shadow once named
Could never again hold power over her.
Hazel E. Guler
The Shadow of the Serpent 🐍
Once upon a time, in a land where wisdom and hard work were held in high regard, there was a garden hidden behind high stone walls. Only the chosen few were allowed in.
She had been one of them — by merit, by intellect, by the strength of her honest labor.
But not everything in the garden was as pure as it seemed.
Among the flowers, a serpent lay hidden:
It slithered silently, approached like a friend,
But only struck when it found her vulnerable.
This serpent had entered the garden long before she had.
At first, it acted like a guide.
Then it began whispering from the branches,
Gradually tightening its grip --
Telling others what to share, when to stay silent, when to fear.
For a time, the young woman couldn’t see the game.
She was honest.
She wasn’t used to enemies who smiled as they poisoned.
But one day, the veil lifted from her eyes.
The garden was no longer hers. The poison had spread too far.
So she chose to leave — to root herself in another soil,
And grow where light could reach her again.
The serpent? It remained behind.
Trapped in the echo of its own venom.
Now and then it twitched its tail, hissed from afar,
Still trying to stir the leaves, to incite the others.
But its voice could no longer pass through her.
She had learned to see it.
To recognize its shadow,
To sense the truth behind its whisperless lies.
She had seen it clearly --
And a shadow once named
Could never again hold power over her.
Hazel E. Guler
