Often was I warned of walking your ways, all men said you’d end my days.
Mother of ravens, mother of night, I seek thee now with all of my might.
Lady of magic, the phantom Queen, lead me now in my dreams. Unto your side and unto your will, Queen of the aethers my heart fill!
Heaven’s Queen and mistress in hell, hear my words and hear them well. Be I chosen by your hand to die this day, that will be, come as it may.
You who know the hearts of men, seeker of right, o’er moors and fens. Listen now unto my voice, I find your gaze and I rejoice.
Come oh lady dark and fair, come ye lady of the raven hair. Here I shall await for thee, lady come to set me free!
Silvered, circled glass, ringed by places high, as fine a place to live as to bide.
An eye to stare unto the aether and endless spaces, moved by moon-tide and kissed by whispered winds alone.
Beneath the glass lies who knows what may, iris by light and pupil black at dark of day. Glamours to charm and beasts by droves to slay.
Lost and by all time forgot, all the deeds of Lords begot, the wending depth-bound way hither conjures my thought this day.
In clear waters to forget of rage and woes, to find again my way to gentler roads, to twine thought with stream and become as one and pass as it may go. Flowing back unto glories past and foretold.
Every day I reach to find the tumbling words of Imbass within my fickle mind.
But the day before twas burning bright, yet now the flame is dim beyond my sight.
I stumble and misread, the embers that are reluctant to rise unto my most desperate need.
Far I search for flint and steel, the broken light within to tend and heal.
But Imbass comes not at my behest, nor at the end of a long and fruitless quest. Rather rises the flame only at the lady’s bequest.
I bide the days by oak, circle and tide, I wander wither I am bid. Perchance upon a day to find the high house whither the copper cauldron of endless inspiration be hid and thus to at last bind, for once and all, my fickle mind.
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.
Roses born of earth and seed, a sight to gladden any bitter heart. In all my life this truth have I learned, never should the love of a simple rose be spurned.
The perfect and imperfect petals, each grown and nourished at need. All a gift of unique and sublime art, every one made from the Lady’s grace to turn and smile back upon the sun’s shining face.
I’ll take my imperfect roses any day, to charm and and gladden my love in every way, I shall at her feet, all my roses lay.
I’ll take the thorns and petals both, the stems be hard, wooden, a long and hard won growth.
For such is life my dear, perfection merely blinds us to seeing beauty clear.
Procrastination is most definitely my vocation. No matter where I am I’m always on vacation.
I can while away my hours thinking up schemes and building sky castles with lots of turrets and towers or lay down in the swaying grass to imagine the smell of flowers.
But give me a job and a pen, oh watch me scuttle about then! I should have hidden in my blanket-built den.
I adore the quiet hours of idle contemplation, where in my brain I solve all the problems of ever single nation.
Everyone thinks at work I’m quick and sure, the truth is I work fast to return and succumb to daydream’s lure.
My secret is out, now everyone knows, I wish to be outside dreaming of watching the flying crows and to let my spirit wonder where the river flows.
You who would have me gone. You who would see me struck from this place. Go ahead my friend, chatter on. I laugh in your face.
Longer than than you and yours have mine been here. I never took this place, I built it in the empty and unwanted spaces so spare me your rhetoric about injustice and races.
I have no wealth to hide from you. I have no hate for any who are different it’s true. Bait me all you can, I am not fooled. I was raised to do and die as is proper for a man.
Take some more, and legislate me into the ground. I shall endure, to this land my soul is bound. In time the truth of your madness will be found.
Come to break my doors again, take all I own, it’s been done before. See? The place is empty, naught here be wrought of gold and silver ore.
Tell the world my people are scum, the cost for that lie will be added to your tally sum.
All who live and here draw breath in the end shall embrace as equals in death. What have I to fear of you my friend? Turn your eyes within and from your “faithful” friends defend all that you have lied so hard to take and steal and apprehend.
Let go now, the past is done. Let the new day be begun. Will ye or no, I shall hither abide for as long as there is a burning African sun.