Pain.

Pain, I don’t mind it, hell I’ll take it where I can find it.

The wracking pain of a body broken, reminds me that I live yet, there are still words to write and be spoken.

The stabbing hurt of a shattered heart, reminds that I have the capacity to love still despite all my emotion being natty and tattered.

The dull throb of a lost soul seeking teaches in time all the world’s wisdom through tears slowly leaking.

The joyous pain of needle on skin, to write my loyalty in ink unfading. Pagan proud my faith never shaking.

Pain is a teacher as and yet unlike any other.  Heed it well as a gift from the lady and mother.

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Ritus et anima pagani.

I have no writ to bind my ways, no commandments to bind my days.

By clear conscience do I bide and blind unto the coming and going of the fickle human tide.

Do naught to harm and much to heal, this is the only and highest truth and strongest seal.

I need not the threat of a fiery pit to be fair unto all with whom I deal. This is the path I choose, of my own will, and that makes it bright and real.

I fear not the raven’s shadow, for my heart is light and free. In all things there is balance by light of three. Shadow, grey and light, ware how you deal unto me, lest my gods deal unto thee.

I need not sorrow for what is lost for my lady shall repair the cost. I fear no fire theft or winter frost nor need I repent at Arthur’s feast of pentecost. 

Whole and sufficient unto the day be the evil thereof as misfortune falls and heavy burdens downward shove. For gentle dreams await along with the lady’s strength and love.

The truth of the vine.

Birthed of earth is the blessed vine and from it in turn comes finest wine. In wine there is truth, and it is a truth of many things. In wine there is all of what life life brings.

From the sweetest wines we draw the truth of love and life and too the way to quarrel and hard-fought strife, to find that best lit corner of heart and hearth, to make peace and war bound in madness and in mirth. 

In the dry there is the taste of bitter and cruel defeat, mourning for the past before the altar or at death’s very feet but too of fine deep thought far and unto heaven cast in society of such wise ones as we may meet.

In the red there is the truth of blood, of all generations gone before, begotten in love and lust, and past, gone away and fell to dust. Too the tie of men unto the land and to the last, parted should he die for lack to break his fast.

In the white there we hold the truth of light and all things reborn as new and bold. Grown up from darkest earth and gladdened in the sun, thence unto winemakers hands and done within the bottle and unto tongue.

Proper rains and rich placed earth, bring vine and truth and wine forth unto birth, neath open sky and raven’s perch.

There the final truth of the vine, that all that would be must ever be born and grown and wrought and die in time to return once more unto the earthen womb to come again.

I like the strange ones

I like the strange ones, the girls with pitch black hair and fingers painted to match.

I like them with a crooked smile and a voice complete with smoke darkened scratch.

I like the wicked jokes and wicked deeds by day. I like the ones who say ‘leave the light on, i like to see you when we play’.

I like the weird ones, the girls bleached all too blond. Of their scarlet lips and mocking wiles I admit I’m far too fond.

I like the wandering ones, the girls who seek just that one perfect man, I’ve no time for whores no matter how nice their tits or tan.

I like the awful ones, who’ll fight for what they do believe, I watch them with baited breath to see they have next up their sleeve.

I like the dreaming ones, their faces far away, I can just imagine how pleasant t’would be a dreaming afternoon, under an oak with them to lay.

I like the shy ones, the girls who whisper ever so soft. They are deep and wise as they are beautiful more often than not.

I love them all, the ones who dare strange. The ones who make their own way over this world and it jagged mountain range. Let my love be professed to you my dears and know my regard does swell.

I’ll ever stand for you against man or beast or mocking bell.

Just one I pray will meet me someday and choose me for true. I’ll be yours my dear, to take to home or heaven or hell.

A hopeless fight I mean to win.

Why fight a battle I know I cannot win? 

For I am a man of the elder ways and I finish what I begin.

Why stand bloodied and beaten before my many peers?

For I bring a message of will unto their eyes and ears.

Why search for love in a world without the touch of trust and keeping faith?

Because without such I’d be lost to hope and naught but a drifting wraith.

Why scribe my words in a place where thousands better write?

For this is my talent, Imbass goddess given to use with all my will and might.

Why go on at all I hear the question often asked.

Because we fight to make a world, a place where none need go masked.

Why defend the weak at cost to my own?

For someday the weak will defend me, remembering, blessed and strong having grown.

Why give honour to stone and earth and tree? When others laugh and mock with glee.

I stand proud, a pagan man. I bow to none and I tell you true.

I am free.