The cauldron comes to boil
laden with the wounded flesh
and broken bones
of ten score generations.
Witches of belief
mind the iron kettle
while grim ogres
without repentance
circle the fire
with hungry eyes.
What was done
to the least of these
rises in the lurid stew
while the air fills
with the dark smoke
of what might have been.
These are the hours
of prophetic night.
Encamped in the shadows
beyond the breaking flames
and cries of the unforgiving
two lonely angels camp in darkness
keeping watch on the infernal.
The hour of sacrifice draws near;
there must be witness.
The fire will burn out,
it always has.
When dawn comes
upon the encampment
of blackened ash
and ill-cast dreams
another voice will speak
the dream of the future.
Animals will gather
as to a running stream
and wilderness will return
bright and untarnished.
Suffer this night
and welcome the day.
The time has come
for revelation.
Watercolor by Eilish Hynes
