by brian francis

Runes and rhymes and fire’s smoke
sands drawn out, a careful rite
enticing ancient powers to come
Magic cast on the darkest night

circles chant and wander around
words as old as the sound of birds
they cast almost a warbling sound
round upon round of ancient words

Flames of blue and red and white
dance in the eyes a billowing flash
An energy builds with the final rite
Falling silent prostrate on the ground

Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Published by

B. F. O'Connor

Born and raised in the idyllic environment of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. A rural paradise perfect for a roving childhood. Now living in the desert southwest, with a flock of parrots, a pigeon, and Three dogs.

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