Unchosen Daughter, Risen Queen: A Poem for the Divine Feminine Rising

This poem arrived as medicine. Not the kind that soothes, but the kind that names what has been living unnamed in the body for a long time.

It is for every woman who has felt unchosen, silenced, or too much. For the lineage of priestesses, witches, and daughters who were asked to make themselves smaller. For the part of you that recognises something ancient in your own ache.

The divine feminine is not rising gently. She is rising the way things rise when they have been underground long enough. With roots, with memory, with fire.

This is for her.

Beneath the hush of ancient stones,

I can feel it deep within my bones

There flows an echo of pain.

The Unchosen One sits by my side,

Her hollow ache, a river wide,

Flowing through a heart of fragile grace,

Haunted by an empty place.

Once, I dreamed in moonlight’s glow,

Yet felt the shadow of woe:

A Desolate path, a Destiny Unknown,

A voice unheard, a heart alone.

The Banned Priestess in my veins

Knew rituals of hidden pains.

She stirred beneath my trembling hands,

A sacred map of distant lands.

I tasted dusk in crimson seeds,

Pomegranate’s grief, ancestral creeds;

My lips were stained with silent cries

Of sisters lost to longing skies.

The Rejected Witch in midnight robes

Danced with my grief across the globe,

Her chants a curse, her eyes aflame,

Calling forth truths with no one’s name.

And then, Persephone’s call

Rose from the underworld’s deepest hall.

Her pomegranates split the night,

Seed by seed, a spark of light.

Daughter of earth, stolen by fate,

She rose, refusing prison’s weight;

Queen of both the dark and dawn,

She claimed a throne where none belong.

I feel her shadow in my chest,

A fierce devotion to my quest:

To honour all who came before,

Their silent grief, their ancient lore.

I stand, unbound by fear or shame,

The Unchosen One might call my name,

But I am sovereign of my soul,

Whole and holy, once and whole.

Let lineage of sorrow breathe

Into a hymn of power, bequeathed

To every witch, to every child

Left in darkness, undefiled.

We rise in midnight’s silver flame,

We claim our birthright, call our name:

Reclaimed, reborn, we walk between

Worlds of grief and worlds unseen.

By earth and river, flame and sky,

I bow to those who fell and cry.

Their pain becomes my sacred wing:

I am the Unchosen Daughter, risen Queen.

- Melanie Britz