New Moon

Oh Silent Torch,

The forth face

in darkness,

Stand upon the

crossroads,

Mighty Hecate,

Fooled they are

by your triadic

image,

I salute the four

of you.

Hail upon this night

of the Black One,

An eclipse of true

mystery,

Vengeance born,

In the name of Gabriel,

sung upon the stillness,

still,

silent,

A panther,

nightmare,

is upon him.

The most deadly curse,

is silent.

Treachery born,

now dead.

This threshold

between death and

rebirth,

This liminal gate,

Night of the Black Torch,

Full Moon-Shadow,

Let the blood flow

between velvet legs,

Oh Hecate,

for the Rites are Hers,

And the Priestess,

Serpents in the sky,

stands upon the Prominence

of Black Fire.

 

If You Remember

Do you love me enough

to fight for me?

Oh man,

as your forefathers did,

carried away by

my Valkyries,

to sit on a throne

of heroism,

they died rather than

succumb

to the vile lie

of the One Son,

for they knew that

my body contains

many Suns,

but I am all.

Would you return to my ways?

Live your life in

harmonia?

Honor and Service

the mantle you wear?

Or do you seek comfort

in your enslavement,

do you hang your head

with the shame of your

cowardice,

pretending it is a prayer.

A true man knows

he is born to be a hero,

and his only way there

is his service to his Queen,

for to serve another man

is to be a pawn,

and to serve a god

is to be a slave,

but to serve a goddess

is to know what life is,

to feel her force in

everything,

and to die,

again and again,

as if thrust in the depths

of the woman he loves,

reborn to fight another day,

and live, glorious,

with joy.

Your Goddess Calls

Oh man, drink me,

like the luscious wine you swirl,

delicately sifting over searching tongue,

cherished in its crystal glass,

lovingly adored by you.

Call to me,

with your fiery loins,

for I do not forbid you this,

So that you may explode

your vision white,

the only sound you hear,

your panting,

With my name whispered,

as your hand caresses,

supple curves,

tender ports,

in which your horizons

expand,

Taste me, Man,

like the delicate morsels

your hunger craves,

for I nourish that which

resounds deep within you,

aching,

searching,

longing,

all the while I stand before you,

unrecognized,

forgotten,

I was always here,

it is you who left me,

secretly adoring me

with your probing senses,

seeking me,

forbidden,

but not by me,

by you,

Oh man,

forbidden,

yet calling,

you are,

forever yearning,

but I am here,

waiting,

for you to remember.

Dwellers

How can they not see you,

transforming the shadows

into lairs of opaque

trepidation,

driving even the

crawling night creatures

into the light cast

from a lonely lamp,

patient, you wait,

all of you,

never needing time,

you have no use for it,

not making a sound

when others can’t see you

as they pass by,

nervously looking back

at nothing.

The Priestess II

And She told me,

even the hottest and brightest of suns set,

but the blackness of the female

is infinite in the Universe,

it is the body,

through which all life is born,

and into which all life returns

upon death.

Why else would they seek it

like no other thing,

to control it,

to destroy it,

to hold it dearly,

close, with passion.

They live for it, they die for it,

they want it for themselves

and no one else,

that is the power we,

the female,

hold over all.

The strongest man will

fold under the tender

caress of a woman’s hand.

What else makes him stand

stiff and full of vital power

and fall limp and spent

within our embrace,

all the while yielding

within us,

dying and being reborn

again and again,

while we art continuous.

This is the strength,

unshakeable, undiminished,

for it is the blackness of the night sky

that beholds the shining stars,

and when they burn out and grow dim,

the night sky will hold them still.

The Priestess

And She taught me,

“Ride the beast

well, my daughter.

The way only we can,

yoke him, grab his powerful

mouth,

and under your grasping

loins,

he will yield,

as only the most powerful,

the most virile,

the most exceptional

can.

For within you blooms

the absolute power

and fortitude,

given only to the most

beautiful

of soft petaled flowers,

making the most

furtive bees

dizzy in the wake of

intoxicating perfume.

It is the greatest of

mysteries,

and the secret they

have sought to render

mute,

only they also knew

one day we

would return.

Not as brides, or servants,

or chattel,

but as warriors,

born to set the world

anew.”