Poetry, Uncategorized

A Necromancer Woos a Dancer

In the interior world the mind
Shackles and confines,
A spirit that seeks an outlet
unconfined, undivined, unrefined.

Layers of history shine,
Subterranean out of time
When the Tuath Dé dreamed
We performed rituals of mime.

Son of intellect, daughter of wonder.
A taxonomist beholds categories,
A necromancer woos a dancer.
Unkempt they crept from asphalt,
Ginger burn on lips return;
Trumpet sounds a laden tumult.
The forms now dissipate,
As the earthy rhythm sounds,
Moving freely to integrate,
The cantor weighs our fate.

My spirit senses movement,
In the languid undergrowth;
Flood waters rise a torrent.
A flame flickers in response,
As the spirit is restored,
Eyes clamp in repose.
A heady brew ferments,
In a barrel of rigid oak,
She intuits her last moments;
In a coffin made besoke.

Smoke rises in return,
All too long this heady burn,
As Étaín takes shape,
The audience looks agape,
Two swans ever more,
With divine Midir as before
The wretched curse had been applied,
To the water where she died,
Until the lazy buzz,
A bluebottle now his beloved.

Performing mysteries in a space,
We travelled at our own pace,
Now seeking compassion for the child,
That crise for the wild,
And the nymphs who would bathe,
In streams that never fade,
Unless the Formorians take shape,
In a vale of unceasing hate,
Until the moon gives a signal,
And the spirits begin to mingle.
the spirits begin to mingle.





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