Gypsy Among the Pines

A path that leads us through hollow trees
 Were clenched in voices the sap proves its moistness.
 Failing sunspots and light deprived
 
 we walk over fires pinching pines.
 As pure as love as mystic myth.
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 The crescent inscribes a solstice a pharaoh under eastern skies forms the night.
 Circle creationists this pheasants and worms they perch down my throat.
 Worms down my throat.
 Pacing through roads and roots intertwine
 meet dead winter snow. Exchanging hellos.
 Potions they make, make me tired.
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 Diluted in powder the red separates they mix it with wine.
 Illusions in white.
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 I wait for the urn it takes time.
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 Gasping for air they just smile.
 Im weak my body goes numb.
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 I think Ive had enough.