Friday, 12 April 2013

Seven Stones

Seven Stones
By Muninn's Kiss
2013-04-12

I know of seven stones,
Seven altars from long ago,
That stand forevermore,  
A barren stone upon a hill,
An altar that's lichen grown,
An icy stone in a valley fair,
An altar that's deathly cold,
A flat worn stone where two roads cross,
A wind swept altar stone,
A granite stone that's oak leaf strewn,
An altar covered in leaves,
A stone that's deep beneath the ground,
An altar of iron strength,
A stone that's high as the very stars,
An altar that's burning bright,
And a stone that stands at the world's own centre,
An altar made of dust.

I know of seven fires,
Seven flames so bright,
And burn upon the stones,
A green, green flame upon a hill,
That burns in a secret place,
A blue, blue flame in a valley fair,
The time of it's lighting lost,
A white, white flame where two roads cross,
A flame to light the way,
A red, red flame among oak leaves,
A flame that's passion's own,
A deep, deep flame that glows like coals,
A flame that heats the world,
A pale, pale flame that's high above,
In a black well cold as space,
A live, live flame that glows within,
A heart within the dust.

I know of seven breaths,
Seven winds so strong,
That blow to fan the flames,
A howling wind across a hill,
A lonely, howling wind,
A storming wind in a valley fair,
A roaring, storming wind,
A raging wind where two roads cross,
A raging, endless wind,
A rolling wind rustling oak leaves,
A rolling, rambling wind,
A solid wind beneath the ground,
A solid, steady wind,
A stellar wind in the very stars,
A stellar, solar wind,
A living wind that was breathed in,
An offering in the dust.

I know of seven wells,
Seven fountains the flow,
That wash the altars clean,
A mountain spring and a mountain stream,
That carves a path below,
A valley spring and a valley stream,
Where grazing herds do drink,
A river slow and a canal bold,
That waters fields and crops,
A passionate spring and a treasured stream,
Among the hills of oak,
A well so deep and a stream so dark,
That flows beneath the ground,
A glistening stream and a river white,
High above all else,
A spring so warm and a stream of blood,
Wetting the altar or dust.

1 comment:

  1. Nice...lots to think about when reading this.

    ReplyDelete