Hallowed Be Thy Flame Poem by Patti Masterman

Aurora Borealis, we would pray to your lights,
That augured a soon coming bounty or blight;
Masses we'd chant, in the crisp evening air,
Holding breath wonderingly, in waiting there.

Calibrate the colors of your hallowed flames,
Conjugate wavelengths, between peaks of waves-
Pilgrims arriving, just to catch one sight,
Once in a lifetime, of your magic lights.

Healings we'd claim, to your beneficent air,
And icons of rainbows, to show off your wares.
A virgin martyr, once a year before dawn,
And fat books of verses, weighing almost a ton.

We'd calculate time, from the first year was known
Your signs had appeared, and then mark with stones
The place where the first man to see you had stood-
And then reveal miracles, built upon blood.

And all high holy days, to your dedication,
And the inevitable once-a-year celebration-
Just forgive us our errors, and we'll throne you God
(Wherein you're declared, as three persons in one.)

You could have been owner of this world, and all in it,
But you had the back luck of the die, as they spin it;
The rest of the world found religions of light,
And your major miracles happened at night.

So now we have virgins and martyrs galore,
And lambs of some god; and the myths out the door-
But no holy telescopes, and no bleeding skies-
And only in hell, are there colorful fires.