Offering
Rain, the air in echoed flight
spewed open, with a gulf to cross
the fog slipped deep into the night
and then, with shallow sigh, was lost
The druids gathered trash-can fire
to lend a lie to faceless storm
then burned themselves in monkish ire
the angry price for keeping warm
And to the sky in crimson ash
a message wrought in smoking skin
the warning lit an acrid path
and deigned to let the spirits in
But horrendous sights remained our flaw
and lost branches never meant a thing
we laughed at pain reserved for awe
and cared not what the clouds might bring
Our minds in dread of solstice bright
(the holy artists crazed, we said)
in acts ingrained, we kissed goodnight
denied the rites above, then fled.
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