by James Lloyd George
The Ancient Dragon lifts her heavy jaw.
All about, the Blacklands are sleeping.
Mortal curtains may be drawn against Her,
yet ever Her kiss is seeking us all.
Her cold blood already tastes my resolve;
the pitiful fight within.
Snakeskin passed before my eyes like glassy parchment,
a thousand windows of enlightenment,
visions of who I truly am glimpsed through every pane.
I cannot run from my reflection.
Fear of losing my mind holds me fast.
The scent of dragon’s breath is in my dreams.
A greater Will strikes against my flintlike heart.
Engulfing flames devour my passive repose;
my vaige purpose becomes ablaze with intent.
The Old Magick stirs, once more, in my blood!
I step out into the night. City lights dim behind me.
Dark clouds crawl across blood-red poppy fields.
Opium trance carries the maidens away.
I see them running to the hills, chanting,
for She is calling – the Ancient Dragon calls!
A fire is lit, though none fear Her form –
colossal serpentine body coiled on the hill.
Again, She slithers down into the valley
seeking more of Her children – those restless mortals
sharing strange waves of blissful insomnia.
Night owls attend Her; their portentous screech
floods the cathedral of their skulls and
pools into the moonlit cup of their imagination.
Their Ancestral Blood has been sampled;
memories evoked of hills crowned with fire.
The Ancient Dragon breathes deeply to stir them.
I see more freed souls climbing the hills;
drawn to the drum and the bare-breasted dance.
Power is raised within the circle of Her shimmering scales,
and I look into our Mother’s fertile boglands.
Nothing is wasted. Her pits teem with life!
Heat rises from cracks in the soil
like intoxicating fumes ‘neath Delphi’s oracular seat.
Rich in every way with sweet decay, salty transformation,
sour revivification, and the bitter tang of new beginnings.
Her watery thoughts seep into every nut of potentiality!
“Bring forth the Oracle! Spill the cauldron upon the hill!
Soon it will scorch a molten path;
etch an enchanted stream through the valley
until every vessel in the Cowan Sea
is rocked aloft her Primal Tides!”
The Ancient Dragon lifts her fiery jaw.
All about, the Blacklands are astir with the Old Magick.
Every spirit has been conjured on earth!
A sacred balance has been witnessed without fear.
May our curtains never again be drawn against Her Kiss.