Come witness these pagan horrors

souls held together by threads

in the hands of a puppet master wind

dancing in the currents of its sojourn to the sea

Stories whispered on the road to Gomorrah

by all those with eyes fixed on the city lights

wishing that the walls would reach out

close in around the ritual flame and guide them

led by invisible hands into something more than darkness

The strings cut, the wind dying

the road rambling ever onward

to a place whispered of by all who warm themselves

beside an ancient, holy fire

burning bright in the midst of a land shrouded in darkness

beyond the reach of moonlight and a broken sky

where a voice made out in the smoke and shadow

is more than a soft call to the night

more than a mind caught between the high walls of the city

and searching for a way out that isn’t there

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A somewhat longer than usual one for ya—hope you enjoy.

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Photo by David von Diemar on Unsplash