The elect stand
in the holies,
hidden in the
shrines and temples,
the places of power,
of old names-older ones
still, forgotten in the
dust of those fallen.
These, hidden from the
eyes of the street-in
corners and corridors,
that gaze down from
beyond the curtain of
time and space.
The fires are lit anew.
the words intoned in
dark rumblings, concealed
in the whirlwind, dancing
in patterns set in motion
from the founding
of the world.
We were, are,
and are becoming
avatars of fire.
Today’s flesh must
fall like autumn leaves,
but the life and the
power is eternal,
as the wheel of
the great year
comes around again
to 'start'
and a second
great ascension.
Ric Ohge [aka Rex Dexter] (20th century) USA
Source: Poetry Pigeon
Thank you for this
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