Under a Blood Red Moon

POETRY NEWS #4292
Date: 03/31/2013 at 04:12
From: Droch Drauka, Seminarian of Bloodletting
To : Everyone
Subj: Under a Blood Red Moon

Under a blood red moon, in a lush forest night
the wild creatures scatter about to and fro.
In and out of trees, hidden holes out of sight,
chattering about under green suppulant leaves grow.
Druids dance in the afterglow of Nature, so bright,
so warm and free in the sweetened dew wind that blows.
Tending their their gardens out of sight,
their private sanctuary, of where we do not know.

Nature in all her glory, in all her balance and wonder;
In all her peace of animal and bush, cheer on the breeze.
At an outsider's glance, much chaos and asunder,
but everything is delicately entwined in perfect bliss.
From the flowing streams and fish that swim down under,
to birds in flight and the swarms of bees,
from lizards that dart here and there quick like thunder,
and many other things few eyes ever see.

Under a blood red moon, a spark is born from the west,
from a blood red fog comes they bring, black as night,
words of madness to ears; a culture repressed,
a sickness of all that is the wrong side of right.
It spreads to each grove and tree, each heart in chest,
each dove and deer, each life so full of Nature's light,
every living thing of the ground or nest,
all know a dark demon comes, incarnate blight.

They reach slowly and deep, as moss in a thicken long forgot.
Penetrating the strongest of faith, the strongest of breath,
the old and the young, any seemingly capable of thought
are suddenly unafraid of screams, weakness, and death.
Finally free of the madness they've been taught,
finally free to live life under a new path.
Redemption of past, correction of all weakness brought,
freedom from hiding under tree and overgrowth's aftermath.

A false fortress built of greenery, warmth and glow,
a true prison built to truly enslave mind, body, and spirit.
Nature provides no more Truth for self, all must know,
than the twisted tongue of flattery from a drunk pirate,
drink in hand and stories out of fat mouth blow,
laughter and comfort is all that exists, not of true merit.
In a false sense of security and fantasy, oh it grows,
From parent to child, this sadness a child inherits,
this sadness of being can be changed they told.

Uprooted from their folly, of lies abound;
unearthed and unfettered to entertain true self and dream,
and finally unshackled from vines under foot and crown.
Knowledge and awakening, frustration let out with in scream!
Green turns to black, and water brown,
a false deliverance is Nature's gleam.
Happiness and glory of tree finally cut down,
A reckoning of self if Evil's regime.


Penned by my hand on the 15th of Sarapin, in the year 622 AF.