Pagan: Poetry

The fog peels back from
the green flesh of a mottled earth;
We walk with footsteps 
that leave no trace in the forest

These are the old streets of ancient lore,
where myth superimposed itself 
on fact to create Legends
birthed here in rites without name

Hands intertwined in this sanctuary,
naked to each other and the wind,
we are alive in the howling freedom
of living without rules

Pressed skin to skin,
need sanctified by the Great Moon
the Royal Court of Stars,
I give my heart to you

You are my Air;
I am your Water,
locked in Passion's Fire
to create Earth.


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