Godhand touching fire,
this ritual plays out at the cave of time,
kindled showers foam smoke,
cast iron horizons,
locked rooms,
no pain through the fire,
only feeling,
the first of Man,
heavy with furs over their flesh,
jaws of lions upon their skulls,
those selfsame skulls caverns
painted with the blood of ritual,
still eyed hides by the dusks
tested the fire's truth with one hand,
shot back like lightning from
God's cask of wine
now the heat grows children by
the darkening of the day.
And the wailing is endless
through the giving land of trees,
beget daughters and sons
all blessed through streams of pain,
blood and tears,
a Mother's pain ferries out the husks
of Men, Women into the
unyielding rock.
One pale finger test the dream's depths,
for truth
embers open wax wings
set sail through fingers
sink into the flat firmament
padlocked doorways darken,
wailing blaze
the Man-Son is born
native to the last campfire
dimming by the hills.
Listening.
Listening.
Listening.
And the wailing is almost over,
yet the fire is still burning.
Selah
The second stanza of this poem has rang in my head like a bell these last few days, along with other lines. I love this poem, you're really an influence man.
Metal as hell! Particularly a fan of the lines: "heavy with furs over their flesh, / jaws of lions upon their skulls, / those selfsame skulls caverns / painted with the blood of ritual,". (I guess literally) Fire!