WARRIORS

The bonfire blazes on, drawing

tides of Memory into

its belly from earth and skies,

from winds and waters,

splashing a welter of vignettes

upon the chill night air.

Grandpa's words colour patterns

of flickering light and shade,

of voices and music, of battles

planned to the beat of

ancient drums. 

Fallen warriors rise, looking amid

the ferment upon their

blood that now courses through

my veins.

Swords and spears glow anew

with the zeal of intrepid

souls, whose march hallowed the

ground as the steps of

our spiral dance.

I hear the clash of iron, the fighter's

call to the brotherhood

for freedom, the seer's incantations

exalting the Horned God,

as all wilderness, wandering and

wildness.

The stars stood still upon their path,

it is said, surveying in awe 

these spirits that shone bright as they.

Far above the hordes they

gathered, for to guard the sleep of the

living and dead, glorying in

the sublimity of Life's sacred circle.

Warriors of myriad creeds 

live and sleep beneath the selfsame

stars, as The Great Wheel

turns. Our duties and debts we ken

afresh, as the ashes

reclaim Light's eternal lore.

© 2015 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image source: en.wikipedia.org