Red Oracle

The crest of silver crescent moon
breaks the red horizon's blade.
A swinging censer's smoke in spiral
bathes the room in incense made
of holy herbs, and angel's breath.

The virgin priestess prays arms out,
her fingers point to earth and sky,
a distant land where all must die.
A future time, the residence of every death.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.