The Sibylline Order Sibylline Classes Poetry, Prose, and Thought Magical Studies Essays, Papers, and Reference Material Chat forums Private Students Area Private Members Area
See footer for text navigation The Sibylline Order Poetry, Prose, and Thought Rituals Astrology, Herbalism, Kabbalah, Meditation Reviews, History, Psychology Private Students Area Private Members Area Voices
Feasts of Fire and Air Poetry by Virginia Stewart
1
2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 | section index

Firestorm
(to Kali n.)

Deeply am I sunk into the well of desire,
the fountain of flame and longing.
Drowning in a lambent sea of suns and cinders.
Who could know that the Burning One would come
when it was not yet day,
In a chariot of millions of years.

She is the Cat who stalks thirsting in the radiant summer,
and I am the wren who sings silently from the tree of tears,
flashing silver and sorrowful in the streams of time.
impaled upon her scimitar teeth,

Then the tiny rubies glittered on the leaves.
Will they vanish when the rain pours down,
Or will they turn to opals when the sun sets?

She has sent the firestorm,
and I am the pine torch
consumed in heartbeats of golden resin
Then the salt sea washed up onto the sand
and the fire drank the waves.

How cool and trembling her hands
that kindle along my body like trails of lightning.

I am the spear thrown at the heart of night,
and night is slain in ice white rivers.
She is the whip of scorching wind
that scours clean the temple in the oasis.

I am the savage mother that embraces tenderly,
and I am drawn up into her breast
and drink the thunders of Sekmet.

Have you poured out the offering into the sand to quench her longing?

The sand swallowed up the offering,
and her tempest was unending,
and I was the hidden one
who watched her wade in blood
until I ran into the desert at the dawning time.

She has not changed but her cloak,
and still her skin is frozen fire
and her kisses are the poison of sandalwood and wine,
and her embraces are liquid spices
and her eyes are burning froth in whirlpools of onyx
and her spirit coils like tendrils of incense to catch the unwary.

Do not cry, daughters of Shemash,
For gladly have I gone into the furnace of the Goddess of the Stars,
And She has seared me with her molten caresses,
and scattered my ashes into the forge of passion.

 

 



about us | classes | rituals | pagan voices | meditations | magical studies | library | sacred texts
site map | students | initiates

All rights reserved unless otherwise stated. Permission required for reproduction. Copyright 2006.
Send comments or questions to the webmistress. Blessings on your journey. Last Updated: