Crucible of Baphomet

An early riser walks his hound
Down a damp, desolate path
Behind which a forest lies
Flanked by old cobbled walls,
He collapses and cries

The son and daughter of mothers
Meet in a forest dark and dense
The late English sunlight assaulting the trees
A past event the early riser can sense

An event of blood, lust and fury,
For the delectation of their true mother
Candles and incense placed around,
In the centre the sigil of another

Torsos tensed and exposed;
Predatory gaze fixed
Tension and smoke
A hidden bond betwixt

Leaves crunch and sticks snap
As the two rush to meet
Fists clenched and teeth bared
The spectator takes a seat

Kick for kick
Blow for blow
The greatest feeling
They will ever know

Heads clash
Fists greet jaws
They exist above
All modern laws

Pulverised muscle
Bone hits bone
The dye is cast;
Their fate they themselves sown

Precious blood is spilt
Bodies broken, abused
An offering greater than all
The early riser scared and confused

The heavens open up and begin to weep
The warriors go to ground
The spectator possessing the daughter
Ripping off her bra, exposing breasts most round

The swollen tears of god
Lubricating their tenderised skin;
The retelling of Adam and Eve,
A more primal original sin

The sweetest, brightest apple
Will be devoured with no regret
Birthing an eternal sinister haunting
That mundanes and witches will never forget…