Image credit: photos287

At the last ritual of a dying world we dance
Veiled in red we swarm to mingle in a throng
of fiery endings seeking out the new beginnings
buried deep below the citadels we burn

An ancient call and wisdom attends our every move
but yet on instinct do we follow siren calls
across the roads and past the fast defeated walls
down alleyways that whisper promises
to our deeply deafened ears

Once night is past the morning bleeds a day
born fresh anew on the rubble of our dreams
of former years crushed under such extremes
we barely breath to see the wonder on display

I recall you standing bleak against the sky
your dress a parody of the burning in your midst
and I wondered what revelations you might bring
before you fell to slumber nestled with us all

At the last ritual of a dying world we danced
to birth a new world, trembling new
this innocent child, which we will nurture and we’ll nourish
till in time we fall again to feed
upon the bitterness of its inevitable decay

(c) Helen Valentina 2016, All Rights Reserved