The Coven's Dance
The coven meets on high
under a moonlit sky.
Witches young and old
gather round to take control.
The maids, maidens and crones too
form a circle so none get through.
Dancing in the night,
chanting, calling, second sight.
Earth, air, fire and water
each appeased upon the alter.
Black candles, hand inscribed,
bring aid for the inner eyes.
Apples, honey, crystals, stones,
anthame, scrolls, ancient bones,
in the circle two young lovers meet.
Passion, longing, wanting, brings heat.
The dance grows more intense.
Chanting, breathing all commence
to work in time as bodies entwine.
Feel the power. Feel the rhyme,
calling, pulling, bringing, releasing,
what the vessel will be keeping,
he who will dwell, be born, come forth,
guarded by the watchtower of the north,
an old one called from the mist of the past,
what the coven has sought, at last.
As the lover’s passion rises and flows,
the god enters her womb and grows.
Energy crackles in the air.
Bring forth Chaos we dare.
Our work for tonight comes to a close.
For nine months the vessel glows,
our beautiful maiden, Rose,
keeper of what was called,
until he be born, then she falls.
Upon his birth she dies,
sacrificed to the father of lies.
Goodnight little witches far and wide.
When you join a coven, keep your eyes
wide open and never blink.
They may not be the sisters you think.
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