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.

 

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.”