So let the spark catch in the grove, on the moss-grown altar, under the horned moon.
Not a prayer — a kindling. If you meant something else (e.g., a misspelled band name, a local folk term, or an experimental music cue), please clarify, and I’ll adjust the piece accordingly. ignition eben pagan
Strike the flint against the stone — black as the old god’s tongue, dense with centuries of unspoken names. So let the spark catch in the grove,
The remembers: fire is older than temples, older than the word “sin.” on the moss-grown altar
An incantation for the threshold
comes not from the sun but from friction between what was buried and what refused to die.
So let the spark catch in the grove, on the moss-grown altar, under the horned moon.
Not a prayer — a kindling. If you meant something else (e.g., a misspelled band name, a local folk term, or an experimental music cue), please clarify, and I’ll adjust the piece accordingly.
Strike the flint against the stone — black as the old god’s tongue, dense with centuries of unspoken names.
The remembers: fire is older than temples, older than the word “sin.”
An incantation for the threshold
comes not from the sun but from friction between what was buried and what refused to die.