THE RITE OF PASSING AWAY

The discalced priestess steps ahead, leans her feet on the waters of the sea

Feminine Christ she doesn't sink, under her, dozens of mortal remains

She stops, even time arrest its course towards the arcane future

Her cesium-colored vestment stops flutter

The sea has exhaled the last breath

The dance of passing away begins

May the sea keep their corpses, Eucharist for the sea beasts

May heaven be an harbor for their souls

In an instant it's the dusk, the sky is on fire

A colossal funeral pyre of celestial wood, the clouds smoke

The sea bleeds, the ritual is over

The moon takes the place of the listless sun

A noxious white light falls upon all creation

The woman wants to cry, but she holds back

Her tears will not adrift forever in the sea of sorrow

She runs towards the shore, she is drained. Warm tears caress her ivory face

In the sky, the arc of the moon is both a sickle and a smile

Under the diaphanous light the priestess is a statue, her hands closed in the softly sand

A scops owl in the distance welcomes the night

A thick mist rises from the sea, spirits glides over the waters

Everything vanishes, now the girl can rest

Under her ambrosial crown a pillow of fine sand, over her a blanket of gracious stars.