Wiccan poems.

@The Archetypal Kouros

Seated before the altar

at the Minoan Palace at Knossos,

I drink thirstily from

the chalice of Divine Essence.

The intoxication I attain

from the nectar of sacrifice

tightly binds the

scrotum of my devotion,

and demands unconditional surrender.

Finally,

as the relentless frenzy

of my invocation

reaches an orgiastic climax,

I both consume and

give birth to myself

in generous libation.

# # #

@Hieros Gamos

Longing to be raped of humanity

through possession by the Gods,

the priestess Lexa dances the

ancient sacred ritual

like a bitch in heat.

Writhing in the pattern of Uroboros,

the eternal circle of One,

she raises the power and rebirths

in the womb of the

Mother of Darkness.

# # #

@The Zen of Sorcery

The highest magician

has divined that

the mystery of the veil

behind the veil

is revealed through

the bloody consecration

of his very desire.

Scourged by the beauty

of the Names,

he salutes the dagger

of severity

in ecstatic anticipation of

the Angel of Death.

As all light is borne

from the Darkness,

so is the illusion of Hades

exposed but through Resurrection.

In this way,

the countenance of Isis herself

is unmasked to all

who suffer under oath.

# # #

@The Chalice

Behold! For within the Great Rite

lay the mystery of the chalice:

swept upwards upon the wings of

divine love and victory,

we consume the Spirit

and re-unite with the Source.

Verily — I am Rhea,

I am the Minotaur …

I am the Chalice.

# # #

@The Coming

On the twelfth day of Bacchion,

the god of magical grace and rapture

is summoned from the sea

by those willing to suffer to learn.

All hearts on Mount Parnassus are inflamed

by the scent of burning ivy and vine

as the nymphs of Nysa imbibe of the

ecstasy of madness and destruction.

“Come to us, Thyonidas,

beloved of bacchantes and panthers …

Join us, O nocturnal one,

in our sacred rites.”

The frenzy at the Festival of Thyia

is soon stilled by the prophetic Great Whispering

and the miracle of wine,

which herald the coming of Lord Dionysus.

Dripping with libations of honey and bloody flesh,

the sated god smiles,

for lifeforce itself is borne

in the womb of pleasure and pain.

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