Defiantly Pagan

Who among you now is left that hears the measured pace of cloven feet, and does not cower at the stamping tread of all-consuming heat upon the lifeless night of winter’s breath? How many of you still can see the warmth of wisdom’s light that burns between his curving horns as he searches through the forest’s night? Which of you can still recall the searing, wondrous joy of sleeping life renewed by fervent lust, or the deep rich smell of earthen must that heralds his approach? For now you cower in a feeble light of murdered man made into God fearful of the twisting shadow with which the avarice of evil men replaced His might and even now you wonder at the emptiness of soul that Choice of Darkened Ignorance replaced. I still hear him; I can hear him now, and welcome his approach upon this longest of dark nights. he searches for his pale frost-rimmed Love, horns scraping sound from leafless branch, hooves ringing on the frozen earth, a bellowed roar of need and lust deep and distant through the trees. And in this glade where ancient trees stand sentinel over his sleeping love, he will find her; He will take her, and in that rough and fervent joining where hungry eager thighs enclose the urgency of joyous, unchained lust the deadened world becomes renewed, and life returns again to shine away the dark. So keep close to that fitful light of what you mistakenly believe is right for when you turn your icy back and stare out to the edge of night the eyes that stare back from the black are mine, and those of whom I love, the Lady White and her stamping snorting love, The Lord Of Misrule.