Prose
Poetry

Poets and Pagans #1

From a forthcoming hobbyist project for The Dark Mod; the sentiments are not my own.


What storms raged in the ages primaeval,
Ere the lightning was caged by machine!
And the kiln and the hammer’s upheaval
Pil’d up brick where once forests had been.

What nights fell with the snows deathly gentle,
As we huddled round campfires of old,
Rapt in wonder and fear elemental,
And dark tales of the wild were retold.

What dark pacts would I make in dread places
To steal thee to worlds eldritch again,
There to gaze on thy fairest of faces
With a passion as wild as the rain!

The mechanical clock mocks my yearning.
Should my years sum a thousand or more,
Shall I see the great cycle returning
To the way we existed before?

For whose beauty, or life, is eternal
But the two lights’ that circle above,
Ever turning, nocturn- and diurnal,
With a constance beyond mortal love?

Grant me power, O ye ancient arcana,
To transcend this sublunary state!
Adoration undying must gain her
Who’ll be lost to this world that I hate.