The Ritual

A night and the following day of a ritual.

The longest hour of the dark,

The longest hour of the night,

The people chanting out our names,

To the steady death-beat of the drums,

Sparks sizzling into the night,

Oh what a night to burn alive.

And as daybreak rears its pastel head,

The ashes of triumph are potted and sealed,

The people are chatting and feasting,

As they move merrily onto the hill of bones,

Oh what a day to bury the dead.

Long into the before hours and onwards into noon,

The people make a ring around our bone hill,

And pray for our wretched souls,

To come back into this world with purity in our hearts,

Oh what a day to mock the spirits.

Then as the feast begins,

The people take their places,

Feasting on what the land provides,

And talking about times to come,

Oh what a night to start anew.

The End

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