Pagan Ritual Poem by Meghan

The sun dripped blood red on the mountains, hand in hand with the taste of wine still fresh in our mouths, we walked alone under the boiling sky. The day was fading fast and sinking into the cool shade of night when we gathered for the feast. Sparks of spirit and fire rose into the trembling dark and cries of chants echoed to the thickening stars, ringing into the galaxies secrets and distant memories. THUMP THUMP CLACK we horded round the gathering fire, a mound of warmth and light before our glowing eyes. With wide child like awe and animal wild trance the movement begun. Dusty foot pagans trampling down stillness, travelling through desire. The feeling in our limbs alive in flight as we spun circles round the conjured heat. Our perceptions melting, waivering between dream and what is real, three cackling witches transcending the surreal.