He Who Comes

Poetry for a Terrible God

my self was pledged to your self before i was conceived
as all of our ashes mixed with blood are
you are the one who summons self out of disaster
out of chaos a thread because of stubborn will
because you are an epiphany
so are we
to one another
because you come when we call
so do we all come to one another
in the right time and the right place
for even the ancient poets
knew of how seriously you take the night
for that realm is one where we may cast off
the lies we tell ourselves
and awake to something hid away
something stopped or stemmed or stalled
instead great roaring horned one
you shake the blood with lightning
our cries echo in the frantic dance
we are lashed to the life force
your very own being
quicken quicken waken waken
tumbling through the wind and rain
dropped dirty in heaps in forests and mountains
as if we had flown somewhere
and gone nowhere at all
madness a resetting of realness
a reminder that the world is not what it seems
so change transform take off your skin
bear your bloodstained teeth and hands
to the god who comes
and they will hold serpents in their hands
as do we
and we will chant cries that mean nothing anymore
sounds of holy purity and primal fire
that the stars once spoke to each other
on the mountain we remember
who we really are
who we could be again
and let go of the what we must be
of the moulds set before us
that grew only pieces of our mind
instead my mind is mainly vine and fire
instead my heart is mainly honey and maenad
instead my feet are the kisses of a path
laid before me
by your wine-stained hooves
o great roaring silent seething endlessly turning cursing blessing god
you are the answer to a question i never asked
you are the prayer on my lips before piety
you are the reverence that is liberation
and the liberation that is reverence
you before all others
say
i see you
now go dance
forget who you are
there is time enough
drink me