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Poem: The Pentacle Rose

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  • Stephen Clark
    Merry Meet, This poem I wrote has been published in a local Pagan newsletter in the city I live in. I thought I would share it with the members of PPS. Merry
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 29, 2004
      Merry Meet,
      This poem I wrote has been published in a local Pagan newsletter
      in the city I live in. I thought I would share it with the members
      of PPS.

      Merry Part and Goddess Bless,
      Akrinaden Saille-Gwiazda
      8th Moon Dedicant
      Lafayette, IN

      "The Pentacle Rose"

      The sky was gray,
      filled with clouds,
      a gentle rain falling down,
      as I walked the grounds.

      Many trees there were
      to shade the paths,
      benches to sit
      those visiting those whom had passed.

      Mausoleums few
      among the plain of stones,
      places for those not wanting
      to be buried alone.

      Off by itself,
      my eyes did spy,
      a weathered headstone,
      that has seen many years go by.

      Among the verdent green grass,
      carpeting the grave,
      a single flower grew,
      bold and brave.

      Purple was its stem,
      thornless as well,
      bluish green leaves,
      petals blue as the sky
      that formed a bell.

      Looking close,
      It had nothing to hide,
      lines of purple,
      formed a star and circle inside.

      Isn't it beautiful,
      The words came from behind me,
      A stranger with haunted eyes,
      dressed in black,
      I did see.

      Who are you,
      Fearfully I asked.
      No need to fear,
      he replied,
      I'm just completing a task.

      To plant the Pentacle Rose,
      is my desire,
      So that no more witches
      or innocents go to the fire.

      A remembrance,
      this flower be,
      a marker of love,
      for all to see.

      The first I saw upon my mother's grave,
      On a world not yours,
      the next two I planted,
      for the brethren I betrayed,
      beyond the parallels doors.

      The third,
      was for my witch lover,
      lost to the pyre,
      like so many
      during the burning times fire.

      From that point on,
      The count I have lost,
      Of witches and innocents
      who paid a great cost.

      So I plant these flowers,
      A remembrance to those,
      Who served the earth,
      God and Goddess in heart,
      lives with meaning,
      whose spirits did depart.

      So your world will know,
      as the blooms do spread,
      the beauty of life,
      even among the dead.

      Tears filled my eyes,
      as he disappeared,
      a ghost in my mind,
      I no longer feared.

      I pray to the Lord and Lady,
      in my heart the spirit grows,
      Others nod knowingly,
      While I plant
      The Pentacle Rose.
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