- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Feast of the Dead
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She walked to the dark meeting,
Side by side, with her sacrifice bleating,
She chanted prayers to the dark friar.
The wind came in great clatter,
Blow by blow, rattling chatter,
Amidst leaves and thorns in the briar.
Dry refuse around them lay,
Piles and piles, in the fresh scythed hay,
In the field, on the hill, stood a pyre.
Flames licking the kindling and tinder,
Faster and faster, heating ember and cinder,
Cleansing dead souls in the fire.
Lord Samhein! Attend us now in the night!
Hand in hand, we invite you into the light,
You bless us and in us great beauty inspire.
With a swipe of her blade, she bathed all in red,
She pleaded for the spirit to take up her dead,
Her virgin daughter to royalty aspire.
The druidic priestess watched soot rise in the smoke,
More and more, writhed in shadows her folk,
Joining together in the fall mire.
Bring babes to replace the souls that you take,
Life for life, in their passion, new hope awake,
We thank you, on All Saint's our Blessed Sire.
On All Hallow's Eve, We build our great fire.
