eighteen ninety-one

The Journey

I moaned the name of a foreigner god, I shrieked the name of a forgotten god; the genuine utterance of anguish. I possessed sorcery on my mouth, I carried mysticism scampering down my hands. My loyalty pertains to the very core of nature, and the moon, oh, undying ally, conducts my fate through the lake of mist. Oh mother, when my chore is finally fulfilled, put me back amongst the soil, bury me gently in a speechless sepulchre, because no tomb has the leverage to prevent me from slithering my limbs out of the ground in a ghostly undeath to crave the misty waters of home.

I sing my ballads to the washer at the ford, oh soul of mist and perpetual mystery. I sing to the maiden and to the crone; mirrors behind their eyes, tides of conflict and harmony. I am devoted to thee, guardian of kingship and battle, who oversees us through the hallways of prophecy and sorcery.

The water craves for me, the whole island yearns for me. My blood runs through that land, I'm part of the soil, I'm part of the air. We raise our hands to the heavens, we dance to the moon-lit dim. Oh, what an anthem of peace. And, veiled by the gaze of the phantom sovereign, we laid down upon the grass until we became part of it. We laid down upon the grass until we became the roots of an oak tree. We laid down upon the grass until we became gods.

There's no greater serenity than lying on the damp ground of the lakeside of the hidden isle of mist, slumbering through the thread that sews our dreams, which runs in the loom of our ancient gods.

I sailed away through the glassy waters of the well, I drank from the hands of the faeries, I wandered into the deep moors and found myself in an unseen castle. I stared the years go by as myself was eternally altered. The voices of ancient souls, of the ancientest spirits of those gravel walls now echoed inside my chest, entangled themselves in my bones. I clenched the key of youth in the palm of my hand and possessed the whole eternity of time on the point of my fingers.