Dead of Winter

"Hail, Metachthonic! You there!
 Chthonic human in this post-natural world
 You stand in isolation from the verdant Gaian nation
 All you! Welcome to Metachthonia!
 Thoughtbuilt walls hold you all
 You've risen from the Earth long after it birthed the age
 Where cold light Shines above sun-warmth
 You stand in isolation from the
 Verdant Gaian nation
 Though stalwart, cold logic is not enough for the pyric human to thrive and burn
 If in the valley of the spirit ice lies across the river
 It's never in breaking through the ice
 It's in the burning of the brand
 In the warming of the land-that ice will lift
 All you! Welcome to Metachthonia!
 Those without fire have kept you from burning brighter
 At the black edge of defeat, shatter the bones of your adversary
 And howl out to the glowing night; drink deep its immortality
 Before we go into the ground-before the bone hand drags us in -seek the moments of Euphoria, the fires that light the great hall of a life
 Relentless pursuer of enigma, incessant as the snow that falls
 Stand, lungs aflame, over your prey
 Drink deep of burning clarity
 "Huntress! I feel so cold, so tired
 I've always charged, I've never baulked
 But now the summit seems so far
 Huntress! Have you ever been, so cold and tired, like the dead of winter?"
 "Metachthonic, you are weathered, not broken
 Because it is dark will there never be light?
 Because it is cold will there never be warmth?
 It is not the dead of winter
 It is the heart of winter
 Know you not the land on which you tread?
 For, under the snow, a heart beats hard
 Can you not see its image in the self?
 Run with me
 We will hunt the spirit of the land
 In the solar glow, we will hunt
 Hunt with me where topos, mythos, anthropos collide
 Woven to our souls we take our prize
 Hear its beating heart; see the ice lift off the river
 Weave this tapestry to adorn the great hall of life