Song in the Dark

This child,

singing by starlight,

sitting by the river

in night’s embrace,

cannot be seen.

And yet,

he leads me,

his voice a shepherd’s staff

of sweetness,

longing,

purity.

The night hunters

watch in stillness,

amusement,

pity.

In the moonlit meadow,

the trap is sprung.

The song a summoning

of wolves,

long past life,

long past hunger.

The sweet-voiced boy

appears among them,

feral-fanged, and amber-eyed.

And so they sing again,

but not for me to wander.

This is a spell of mournful howling,

binding the legs,

draining the will,

and I am an offering, a blood sacrifice

to the verdant, loamy, pagan lore of the

forest primeval.

As my soul flees the husk of my ravaged, icy flesh,

the song of river, wolf, and tree

now blend,

and guide me anew

to take my place

among the stars.

 

*art by Victoria Frances

 

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