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Dead to a Dying World
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Eventide
White, light, entwined
The blood of oak
Wing, carried seed
The sacrament
Twin, bulls
The sacrifice
Our, vows, intoned
Now sanctified
Rising, ever higher, our pleas ascend
Golden, harvest sickle cuts clean
The waxing, crescent, glares down
This ritual, of oak, blood and seed
My body bows at the wooded edge
Eyes soaring beyond the horizon
My limbs form branches, and outward
Snapping stone seeking waters
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I feel the songs of my line
Burning river of golden eyes
Staring back
Wolf eyes, stare within
The bond lies cut.
This blade of silver.
Tear the veins of earth
We are the ravens of dusk
We are the stag at dawn
We are the carving waters
And the battle raging on
We are the waxing moon
We are the starless void
We are the endless well
And the river flowing inward
And the river ever flowing
And the river ever flowing.
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