You changed our Horned God
To a symbol of hate,
Our Goddesses hi-jacked
And made into saints.

True sensual love was
arraigned and despised,
and our magical rites
were called blasphemous lies.

Sacred groves were uprooted,
Or buried 'neath stone
Of your brave new religion,
Serving one God alone.

You have clothed us in demons,
And no longer see
Through the lies heaped upon us,
For the weave is too deep. 

Can the loom of this prejudice
Ever be stilled?
Will the sharp grains of rumour
No longer be milled?

Will you unpick the threads
That hold many in fear,
And leave us in peace, 
Our Goddess to revere?

Will you bring understanding
Into the new age,
Instead of the trappings 
Of self-righteous rage? 

I dream: yes, I dream
Of the tolerant days
That will come when blind hatred
Is all washed away.

Blesséd be. 

Written by and © copyrighted to
my wonderful friend David B.

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