Equinox

Endymion

The high moon, full, trickles illumination
Over the lip of the cup, heavy laden
With its light, like blood-runnels down a blade
As it is quenched in the breast of a beast.
The Great Oak's nightly-dancing children
Do not count themselves among the least.

Lunatic light lightens every least
Corner with it's whispered illumination.
So begins the feast of Sylvan Children.
And the celebration of bending branches laden
With decay. Afar, the howling of the Beast
Proclaims, " Make ready! Sharpen the Blade!"

A priestess, robed in white, caresses a blade;
Her eyes follow the sickling curve at least
As far as light will grant before the Beast
Closes the eyes against its illumination.
Earth and sky, pounding, seething, laden
With drum, dance, and chant birthed by children

Who know no more of song than the children
Who came before them-only that song, like a blade,
Cuts through night, through day, dark light laden
With future-promised springs, fertility-not least
Among these, a new-old illumination
Unforgotten-if only they appease the Beast.

Men lead a raptured man like a beast
Before the ravenous, raging children
To their Mother, Priestess, Their Illumination
In a world where dark dooms descend like blades.
She shall comfort them, save them-at least
Make bearable the burdens with which they are laden.

And he shall help, this "beast-man,' laden
With all their hopes of appeasing the Beast
For yet another season's turn-at least
Until after the births of healthy children,
After good harvest has fallen to the blade
Of the scythe again. "Let not the sun's illumination

"Desert us!" they beg the Beast. "My weary children!"
Their Mother calls, laden with illumination.
"We offer not the least!" A howl and a descending blade.