Michelle Ogden

The Ritual

In pale moonlight she dances
Under the mighty oak
Singing, chanting, crying
Surrounded by smoke
Cloaked figures in a circle
Watch the scene unfold
Still the lady dances
In her robe of pale gold
She communes with the ancient ones
Voices only she can hear
Amidst the reverent murmurs
On this night so clear
In this mystic grove
Ancient rituals unfold
Witnessed by nature
Just as in the days of old
On the fringes of the circle I stand
Awed by the lady's dance
Drawn into the circle now
Numbed by the pagan chants
My will is not my own
I feel the fires heat
I am chocking on the smoke
The smell is sickly sweet
Chanting in an ancient tongue
The lady dances around me now
I feel my spirit floating
Up among the oaken boughs
Now I can see the lady clearly
Her face a mass of lines and creases
As I leave the lofty heights
Suddenly all life ceases
Past and present collide
The silence is deafening
I feel an awesome power
Like the first touch of spring
My soul once again encased by a body
Draped in a robe of palest gold
I touch my face and scream in horror
The skin is wrinkled, withered and old
I see the lady dancing once again
The last sound I hear is evil laughter
As she dances and sways in my body
And I accompany hers to the hereafter
Wednesday, January 30, 2008

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