In the Land of Ire, the Spires Come Forth

Selene, the beryl is a nod of the hat to you!

From the depths of a well, 

Below air, water, and earth, 

In the forge of gods 

Brighid intones her verse. 

She calls forth the living rock 

In iambic pentameter. 

Spires of nephrite and green beryl 

Rush to do her bidding 

And push to meet the air: 

A field of scintillating emerald. 

A boy wanders aimlessly between the stalks 

Marveling at their glory. 

Inside each, a different shade 

Reflects back his visage 

Encaging another soul. 

Sunlight plays through cleancut edges 

Projecting motion pictures 

Of lives once lived and more to come. 

Soon he is lost. 

Sharp corundum blades slice his feet 

Drawing forth rivulets of crimson 

Seeping down to the roots. 

At first sung of healing, 

Brighid's song takes a turn 

As she weaves her charm. 

The boy could not be harmed. 

Father Daghdah frowns with pity 

and makes the sun stand still, 

While playing his harp to much smaller end. 

The boy lies down and is soon asleep. 

Tuatha by the scores venture 

To see the sight, 

With whispered voices 

Buzzing in the swarm. 

The boy could not be harmed. 

A choir of Bean Si' caoin 

And sing their song of old, 

Serenading the boy with presage; 

An odious melody 

Sends tendrils into his soul, 

Leeching hope and faith 

From his brittle bones 

Leaving him truly alone and unarmed. 

The boy could not be harmed. 

Father Daghdah resumes his mesmerizing strumming, ravvivando. 

Sun and stars answer his call, 

Quickening to dizzying pace, 

And an eon passes in the space of one chorus. 

Macha of the three morrigna 

Rides forth on her majestic horse 

And looks down on the aged boy. 

"Child of man, with strife in your heart, 

You bleed hostility from your veins. 

Come, be my bannerman 

And die endlessly for me." 

He pulls himself unsteadily to his feet 

And shakes his head 

To her withering stare. 

Old man was not alarmed. 

The boy could not be harmed.

Author's Note

A little bit of Celtic mythology woven into this one. Hope you like it.
(ravvivando is a musical term for speeding up) Bean Si' is the Irish celtic term for Banshee
And I took considerable license with these characters to fit my story. There essence, however remains intact.

Reviews

[Michael of Gilead]

Slainte!

[JulieNorell]

This is a really cool poem. Mythical, magical, Awesome! Good job! Keep writing!

[Ruth]

OMG! This is so cool hon!
Mythical, alluring, a tale of complex properties that leaves me in awe love! lol
STUNNING, sorry but thats all I can say, this is sit back and sigh out woooowwwww poem, one of those! lol
Excellent!
xx

[Dream Weaver]

A very sweeping piece Dave...
Enjoyed it, a wonderful write!

[Geralyn Miller]

Ah, names from The Celtic mythos have have not heard since my Irish Great Grandmother died. I learned the lore from her. Her Banshe threats made me a very well behaved little girl indeed.

You must have a touch of the Irish yourself. You surely captured the spirit of the old ways.

[sarah]

this totally sounds like someone I read in my lit class amazing poem!

[Robin]

vibrant images that bring your story telling to life ~

[Linear]

I'm not going to tell you that i understood this poem, or it's goings and comings, yet there was a certain river running through it, that kept me reading, so well done

[Allison]

Truly beautiful. I really loved the mythology in this. It made it so much more...captivating regular poem. You can really feel the...mystery, along with many other things and emotions (all good, believe me), woven inbetween the lines of this poem. And that truly brings it all together in a beautiful way.
Stunning, simply stunning.

-Pokie

[Revenge<3'sMe]

Loved it of course! I'm amazed by your writing skills!!