Cycles in Your Depths

Winter has its altar, scarcely lit
by stars, as hoar-frost jewels, calling forth
hard light, within stark, crystal ice, and stone.
Build with me a fire; here, let us sit
in silent worship of this sacred deep,
where storms and calm unite, where spirits soar
beyond this world.

Spring blossoms hardly dare raise a head
into a sky, that darkness won’t forsake,
for fear of threats of cold, prospects of fire.
Must we be recalled into the day,
to suffer worlds rejoiced by garish light,
forgetful of the mysteries we keep
in silence, locked?

Summer’s scorching heat burns not so deep
as night-borne stars, that seek beyond my soul,
but brings, to melting earth, deceptive ease.
Hear me call, through hours of precious dark,
to share our heartbeat, lest a skittish day
should lose our grip on sure reality,
and leave us, bare.

Autumn’s promise sings, impatiently,
an invocation to encroaching dark,
to manifest its blessing from the void.
Come, with me, gather wood, and rebuild
a pyre, to celebrate the sinking sun,
and welcome, to the diamond glint of stars
that call us home.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2024

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