Litha
The battle between darkness and light
Pain, oh pain,
from screeching hell,
who battles this night?
Wind shrieks
expelling her bile
bending fearful trees.
She scrapes
earth’s skin bleeding
while dust devils dance.
Who battles?
Hear me!
Soldiers of Oak
you will lose this night.
It’s known
this night proclaims
Holly’s victory.
The light
will go and dark
will set upon us.
Foretold,
on that darkest
night, you will triumph.
Phoenix
of warring season
must it be battle?
Must we
kill to claim seat;
endless bloodletting?
Fools all
of ego and power,
creating wars to
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feed endless
desire: grotesque
empty victory.
Put down
blood soaked weapons.
It is time to heal.
What sire
made you so small
that death inflates you?
And why
must you release
vile stench upon us?
Return
to your sick hell
and leave those of us
whose lips
sneer in disgust
at your weak attempt
to strut
but trip upon
your shriveled manhood.
Be gone!
The hell you spawned
will be ours to salvage.
And we
will plant flowers
of every hue and shade.
Blessed Earth
will finally breathe
free of vile influence.
Oh, Mother,
next solstice watch
as the sword is passed
in peace.
