Centuries brewing:
a blend of ruby chants,
obsessive love
and rage,


the lid flies toward
a cracked and gasping sky . . .




to howl with sulfured breath,
cast spells from a cauldron
too long unseen.


Give back to Prometheus his
stolen flames:
here, star-clad lord,
take back your blinding
gift, processed into
plumes of gold . . .
here is liquid hate,

what hate should be:
black whips
and blood and scales
of fallen angels,

here, take the boiled
heart of Earth
and mold new worlds
to punish.


Help us, Heaven,
our souls cry,
how beautiful is hell!


How beautiful the
dreams born
in fire.


by Patricia Joan Jones

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