I miss you today. At the closing of this uncertain year, I wish I had you yet by me here, to quell my mistrust and my growing fears.
Father of my mother with your hair and eyes of steel and black and grey.
My teacher in all things, of wisdom and knowledge sovereign king. Would that I could but one more time my many questions to you in your quiet study bring.
Though your path was far different unto mine, would I could once more sit within the dark night with you, eating cakes and as we spoke sipping of a fine red wine.
Wither walks your spirit now wise grandsire mine? Could I call you to my side by vaunted druid’s art? Would we speak again of the moving earth and lightning’s ark?
Ever did you love your fellow man, kindly in your ways yet blind to their malice hidden behind gilded promise and fluted fan.
Struck by malaise that stole your reading and your skill to write, yet your mind above all others remained shining strong and bright. Never did you claim it, yet I’d swear you had the elder sight.
Unto me you gave the greatest gift, that still to my heart is most dear, the love of knowledge and of wisdom’s silken drift.
Long you worked and set unto your toil, yet at the last even all my prayers and all your strength could not deaths grasp foil.
Rest easy my teacher, grandfather upon your black leathern chair. In life you taught me well, now in spirit your oft remembered words my soul keep fair.
Judge me not upon your terms my love. I am paganborn and not of the white cloth’s staid and quiet fold.
That which I desire, I freely praise and raise and whistle to admire.
Your shapely hip, high bourne breast, the white of your skin and all the rest. This be but the truth, why would I lie? I admire these things even as I love your merry voice starry eyes.
I will not bring you flowers dear, I shall bring you honeyed mead, I’ll make no empty promises love but I shall hunt and fill the pantry your every need to feed.
No palace can I offer you, merely my own-built home there among the stones and stands of yew. Tis no grand thing my love but beauteous in the morning dew. There for all my life would I wake to you.
I have no riches but that which my hands may make. I am a simple man, I wish merely to care for you and goddess willing sons and daughters upon your whim to wake.
Judge me not my dear, for seeming strange and crood. For my love be honest before all the gods and the land. Upon my knee I ask my love, pledge me now your heart and troth and hand?
The mist and tide of Avalon. Lost road between the fey and here. There will you find me, waiting still for you my dear.
The olden ways they beckon me, the goddess ruling all an the lord of oak holding sway through summer spring and fall.
Lighted is the forest path for me by her divine grace. I see her in you, in your fair and loving face. I see her in your form, all the wanton lust and noise of a brewing thunder storm.
I long for you lady so, by the stream and standing stone. I keep forevermore my faith with you though frail and old my bones are grown.
Come the time and rule of thorn, I stand still by the stone my dear, never shall I be foresworn. I await you patiently, your coming shall be a blessed morn.
I hear your feet upon the path, to bring the joy of Imbass to my heart and soul at last.
Blessed be my lady dear, merry met and blessed be. Long and through the hardest times hath I awaited you yet you kept your faith with me.
Merry met lady mine and blessed be.
All of this is for you.
All of this is yours.
From the dawning light to distant shores. Deeply have you dared my love awaken, freely offered and freely taken.
All this world I’ll give to you. From cloud and sky to bladed grass and dew unto snowbound mountain spire.
All within my reach is yours. Upon our meeting my broken sword I laid at your feet. My troth I wrote for you upon a virgin vellum sheet.
All the roses of the world be yours and all the fragrant blossoms too, though they pale beside your beauty and your perfect flaws.
Guardian I will stand while you peaceful sleep, I’ll bring low aught that dares make you weep.
Lift you from the darkling fires and the burning chains that bind. Though the doing be my end and break my mind.
My home is yours to keep, for I never saw it’s emptiness until I knew it’s lack of you.
By my hearth shall you never hunger. I shall provide, your stalwart hunter. Sheltered safe from frost and thunder, embraced within the circle of my arms.
By wit and strength and word from you I’ll ward away all the world’s many harms.
It was not me.
The sin was not mine. Mine were not the hands that tied the ropes that bind us apart. Not my tongue that spoke the words that broke the lover’s heart.
Save your benedictions. Save your anemic excuses. Between us two there be only truth and fleeting truces.
Do not ignite a flame in me who his hand hath stayed. For honour’s sake I kept silent while the howling warhound bitches bayed. But seek to drag me down and I shall pay you true. With coin in kind to your shame and rue.
Mistake thee not my silent stare for lack of rage. I remember all, written in blood upon my heart’s secret page. I feel no shame. I have not no boundaries crossed. Twas thee the first first blow struck. False innocence upon thy hidebound shield embossed.
Loki’s tongue lives well within thy head. I shall have truth known though the telling leave me spent and dead. I fear you not. Your spite is wasted. I stand proud for all to see. Ware you now lest I your betrayal requite and cow you with my discounted and forgotten might.
Ware thee well my erstwhile dear. I hear all. I watch thee close. My eyes are clear.
When I was a teacher, I often wondered at my own words.
Eloquent, I stood before a class and spun them for all to hear. I spoke well of history and language and beauty. From mocking teenagers I evoked for dying Caesar a woeful tear.
I spoke in tones harsh and hard. To those who would their learning watse away. Yet for all my rebukes they loved me by the end of day.
I spoke unto my colleagues as a learned friend should do. Unto my ideals and thoughts other minds to woo.
I spoke unto a crowd of people. Many thousands strong. To help me shape a concert from a lost unruly throng.
I spoke much when I was a teacher. I spoke perhaps too much, for now in later years I’ve learned the power of silence’s touch. I speak no more to masses nor to many faces, yet my silent eyes behold how weak my words were in truth, in so many hidden places.
Here in the quiet I wonder and behold, I see the seeds of words flower and unfold. Fain would I speak again to my many pupils and choose my speech with greater care. For I know now that love is constant even above knowledge golden rare.
I pride myself in my own humble way. I am no more a borrowed mirror of another’s written chord. My own bloods ink now rides in every quiet word.
My life has stopped. Nothing moves these days. I look about and see others come and go through the golden haze.
I once was part of it all, coming and going, at the bleeding edge of it all. When did it happen? When was my silent fall?
I watch with values from another time. I complain with the elders about money and time and crime and the winters cold frosty rime.
When did my limbs grow leaden? Too heavy to chase a skirt or seek the secrets of heaven. When did my mind go slow, my quick tongue lost its edge and deadened.
I am trapped in amber, it’s golden sap turned age old brittle. I would fain move, even but a little. Stir my heart to song, touch my skin with fire. Let me live once more with love and pain and ire.
I gaze and see and ponder. I would know again my youth of hope and wonder. Grant me but a night oh goddess in thy fond embrace. Let me love you as is the unknowable want of my silly wayward race.
Awaken me from my golden cell. Alight to me where I in dead flown prison dwell. Touch but thy hand upon brow. Waken once more my passion to drink and dance and row.
Pray hear me lady, and set me free.