TO MY ANCESTOR
Your tombstone crowns this lonely woodland,
crested with amber this Samhain eve,
as the Past glowing dark gold through the
mists of Time. Where lie your bones,
lionhearted spirit, you who were denied your
kinfolk's mourning, your tribe's tears and prayers,
every death ritual, the rite of passage
into the Otherworld?
The living await a divine pause, for to convene
with the departed upon sacred, dusky
borderlands this liminal season. Yet, I mourn you
with the dying light, with the setting Sun
garbed in the living hues and fading warmth of
your endmost earthly breath.
I would aspire to your power, to your wings,
great warrior, as I seek the seed of inner victory,
this treasure you bequeathed me,
that your own blood bonded to my soul.
I would plumb the depths of the past
at your feet, of Earth's course the seers foretold.
I would battle with quill and ink,
for to open minds and hearts, that we may preserve
Nature and Destiny, that Life and Truth may prevail.
The beck sings softer, as the Portal opens;
I hear Samhain's drums mark each sacred moment,
Hecate's mirth resounding through the glen,
hissing embers, seething cauldron,
Eternity's white pinions in the ageless dark.
I shall weep no more,
for these blessed hours are brief.
My sorrow I give unto Her who granted it birth.
© 2015 Lily's Verse
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