On the night of the dead the sun enters the moon´s tutelage
to be reborn in Spring. Far north it sojourns to death´s domain
casting it´s chill shadow to the ground, to grind the stellar mill.

O night of the dead, we the still unborn
have arisen from the tomb of the moon
on the silver dew of death´s frosty morn,
as light becomes a demiurge´s doom,
to follow the moon who opens our tomb
unto the birth of the sun from her womb.
Moon, we who have arisen from the dead,
on this night, its dead, to the stars are fed.

Copyright Robin Ouzman Hislop 2003-10-31.
All rights reserved.
Night of the Dead