Solitary Solstice
The robe is soft and unadorned
I draw it on with thoughts of Night,
My trembling fingers stroking white
So dazzling pure and faerie light
As drifting snow has never formed.
Like latticework the ribbons pour
In shimm'ring shades of lacy pale;
The Night discards her virgin veil,
She leaves for me a silken trail
I seek the Mystery once more.
The Spirit Voices sing to me,
The name They whisper not my own
Yet to my ear is not unknown.
I do not walk this Path alone;
I follow windsongs to the Tree.
Her music draws me farther still
At last I'm on the Other Side.
The vision fades of tears long dried
And human weaknesses denied
Slain on the Altar of Will.
She now requires a sacrifice
An offering of value dear
To justify my presence here;
The Dryad essence ever near
Demands I pay the price.
My movements slow to Celtic time
An ancient clockwork sets the pace
And mirrors that reflect no face
Now beckon me to their embrace
In barren, breathless rhyme.
The willow bends as sobbing winds
Fall silent `neath the midnight skies;
Her form appears before my eyes.
All sound surrounding shows, then dies
And True Communion thus begins.
—Katelyn Skye
1992, S. Shallcross | 
