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, 

Morrigan'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

Lilium Candidum

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