The Bacchanal

Autumn pagan ritual

The Bacchanal[1]  by Richard Guimond ©2014

When the field are deserted and the grain in stone cisterns conserved
When the trees are shaking and the leaves are for winter shed 
Up on the mountain from behind the screen of deep dark wood 
Voices of thunder, skins of drums, strings of steel, wooden voices of souls
Daughters of Bacchus around pyre dance drinking red vine of earth
Daughters of Pan, with nymphs, fauns and satyrs, swirl in trance 
No need of golden cups nor kalixes, just from earthen ware
The blood of the vine flows with soul intoxicating warming fire 
No male should witness the rite under the harvest Hecate's moon
Or should his limbs simply, with frenzy, be torn apart
Hail to Bacchus, hail to Pan, welcome immemorial darkness 
The Wild Daughters of Gaia are tonight free from order, free from reason
Into the darkness savagely celebrating the antediluvian primeval chaos

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[1] 2014-10-20