Ostara: The Emerald Blade Descends

The frost is a shroud for the suffocating soil

Where the blind worms writhe in their ancestral coil

The sun is a pale ghost, a flicker in the grey

Counting the hours of a dying winter's day.

But beneath the permafrost, a heartbeat thrums

The rhythmic drumming of a thousand dormant drums

The ice begins to fracture, the iron earth to bleed

Awakening the hunger of the primordial seed.

OSTARA!

Tear the veil from the weeping sky!

OSTARA!

Where the dormant shadows learn to fly!

From the marrow of the winter, the emerald blade descends

The cycle of the slaughter, the circle never ends!

Goddess of the Threshold!

Queen of the Vernal Fire!

She does not bring a gentle peace, nor a soft, floral breath

She is the violent rupture, the sudden death of death!

She rips the soil asunder with a fingernail of gold

The secrets of the solstice, in blood and resin told.

The hare runs blind through the thicket of thorns

A coronation of chaos, a kingdom reborn

Wash the altar in dew, wash the altar in rain

The joy of the blooming is the ecstasy of pain!

The equinox is a blade...

Cutting the dark from the light.

The balance is a lie...

The dawn is merely a different night.

Shed the skin!

Shed the ice!

The bloom is the altar!

The bloom is the sacrifice!

OSTARA!

Tear the veil from the weeping sky!

OSTARA!

Where the dormant shadows learn to fly!

From the marrow of the winter, the emerald blade descends

The cycle of the slaughter, the circle never ends!

Goddess of the Threshold!

Queen of the Vernal Fire!

The green...

The gold...

The hunger...

Sown.