Ceremony

Only the time drawing closer
takes her timid hand.
The path she must walk stretches ahead
strewn with songs sung weakly over the hum
of condemnation.
The Court waits with clicking fingers
and wetted lips for The Witch.
And she appears.
>From the mountain's mouth she strides, naked to the hisses
of The Gallery, trenchant voices rising as one twisting serpent.
She walks solemnly
The Tempest swarming around her. The night enraged
with feral shrieks and maddening wails.
The Gallery grows above her spitting venom
while The Court stands,
hands raised to the black heavens.
She approaches in fealty,
bowed head leading amber eyes to the ground
alive with telluric energy.
With a thought, the chasm of time is stopped, and
in one moment of silence
she is embraced.

Christopher Hivner