A sword against the moon
And power, power:
We were gods that night
Gods as we always were, but that night aware
That night, knowing
Hearing the chants, the voices raised to us from an ancient shore
A memory sleeping in the blood, silent in our veins for a hundred thousand years
Till we awakened it and remembered
That it was our own hands that hung the stars
Our own hands that set the lights in the sky
Our own hands that stirred the worlds into motion.
A sword against the moon
And the power that can never sleep again.



October 2005