the call of the wild...

the call of the wanton wild           
echoes from the little child       
even the gods by her beguiled
                   
keeper of the key to all is she
she flies the cosmos in utter glee       
for only she knows what will be       
this little child this child banshee

the steed of atonement does she ride
while under his hoofs worlds collide
and from his tongue the dead now cry
their pleas for mercy all denied
as prophets do in her confide

 

broken branches of peace once spoke

now devoured in crimson smoke
from in her hand with fiery stroke
or can it be the demons woke
there is no hiding under cloak

riddles ride the aeolian winds

spreading ashes of those who sinned

too late now their acts to defend
no more time their lives to mend
for unto them her wrath descends

ancient answers wing their way

eleusinian mysteries be their stay

 to live again carved in clay
if only they knew how to pray
but charred remains color their days

voices trickling from the past 

homeric hymns spun in glass
this and more the child forecast
she was the first and is the last

this little child born of the wild
whose virgin birth they did defile
and now pay all who did her rile

this little child