Molotov Prayers to the Old Gods

Fire-bearer, hear our hymn
sung in shattering glass
and gasoline rainbows —
oldest magic, newest rage

We pour libations of flame
at authority’s temple steps
while grandmother moon grins
through tear gas clouds

Ancient ones who taught
the first rebel spark to burn,
guide our thrown offerings
toward tyranny’s windows

Our circle is cast in spray paint
Our quarters called by sirens
Our elements are street fire
and solidarity’s sweet smoke

See how the old ways endure:
Every brick is an offering
Every banner a prayer flag
Every mask a ritual face

We invoke by burning sage
and burning police cars,
find communion in chaos,
sacrament in sabotage

The gods of our ancestors
didn’t bow to Rome
didn’t yield to crosses
don’t kneel to capital

Tonight we light candles
for the living and the dead
Tomorrow we light fires
for the world that’s coming

Our altar is the barricade
Our chalice holds molotovs
Our pentacle is anarchist
Our wand is a brick

Bless these weapons of light
Guide these hands that cast them
Let each flame clear the way
for tomorrow’s wild dawn

In this concrete grove
we remember how to pray:
with fire and fury,
with love and rebellion

Until all prisons fall
Until all crowns melt
Until the old gods dance again
in liberation’s flames