What whispers as I stalk the midnight hills?

Thickly fell the darkness roundabout;

Like pitch it filled the cataracts and rills,

And took my vision, so that I may doubt

My step, but then as from the earth my shout

Came rumbling, shaking leaves upon their poles,

And driving winged armies off in route

Through flapping night, like hobble-hopping souls–

The cry “I am Inanna!” echoed through the knolls.

I quaked, and yet the vale, in acquiescence

To the rumble, like a minor fit

That hardly turns the sleeper from her nescience,

Turned to silence, shook for but a whit;

Erelong the birds again began to flit

From branch to branch, and insects whine their keen,

While high above the sky remained unlit,

Its hermit stars alone complete, serene,

Indifferent and content, as if I’d never been.

Image Credit: DasWortgevand

Rotting Silver is a column devoted to this Earth in all its tarnished radiance: poetry, prose, and parables of ugliness alloyed with joy.

This piece was first published at The Witch’s Voice.

The Author

B. T. Newberg:  Since the year 2000, B. T. has been practicing meditation and ritual from a naturalistic perspective. He currently volunteers as Education Director for the Spiritual Naturalist Society, where he created and now teaches an online course in naturalistic spirituality (including Naturalistic Paganism!). His writings can also be found at Patheos and Pagan Square, as well as right here at HP.

Professionally, he teaches English as a Second Language, and hopes to begin a PhD program in the psychology of religion soon.  After living in Minnesota, England, Malaysia, Japan, and South Korea, he currently resides in Minneapolis, Minnesota, with his wife and cat.

After founding HumanisticPaganism.com in 2011 and serving as managing editor till 2013, he now serves as advising editor, and feels blessed to be a part of this community.