by James Lloyd George
Behold the shifting guise of our Queen!
Yews twist and turn to trace where she’s been.
for none can unravel her way in the night;
now by the road, now in the blight.
She stands on the tombs of the glorious dead.
Fearsome Devourer; blood for her bread.
All shall embrace mortality’s kiss
from her blood-stained lips that span the Abyss.
Descend! O descend, through the Dragon’s jaw.
Sweet, sensuous fangs sink in evermore.
The Witching Hour stirs a cauldron of bone;
rose-crested skulls engraved by our Crone.
Serpentine soil engulfs muddied tears.
I wake from my dream to suckle my fears.
Mystery of Mysteries turns in the earth;
unhinges my soul from its frivolous mirth.
Hekate! Hekate! Your eyes lay me bare;
peels away cracks in my skin as I tear.
Dismember my comatose limbs in your tomb.
Plant my surrendered soul in your womb.
They fear her – those blind to the Mysteries,
yet witches and strega have loved her for centuries.
She leads me unto beauty’s decay.
Now ever I dance on the Strega’s Way!