The Bonfire

Bonfire.

More appropriately, "bone fire."

This is the origin,

this is my story.

In the Celtic festival of Samhain,
it is the time of marking summer's end,
where leaves depart to the ground and remain,
and the cold frost does Mother Nature send.

Behold, the world of the spirit draws near.
Start the fire, burn the bones of cattle.
Ghosts, good and evil, far off do they hear,
in the shadows they murmur and rattle.

Spirits of goodness, kindly let them pass.
Specters of evil, from flame they depart.
All this practiced and witnessed by the mass,
this is the ancient knowledge they impart.

And they wear masks.

Yes, masks.

In this facade, spirits can not know them.
Truly, it is not their will to converse.
Prosperity is precious like a gem,
with no fear of a good life in reverse.

I was there,

in this age.

Through time, the flame perpetually burned.
Now, when ancient patterns seem gone and lost,
the spirits will still go their paths unturned.
The tradition lives on when ways are crossed.

Homecoming.

Coming home.

Home to what?

At the day's end, I had come to a place
where the shadows of twilight were fading,
and all turned to shadow, hiding my face.
Masks already, all were masquerading.

Then arrives the flames; wood, oil, arranged.
Now every visage glowing in the dark,
for it is here that the masks have been changed.
So bright, over me the ashes do arc.

I look about, all are smiling faces.
Wonderful song, most delightful chatter.
Anyone I know?  See all the spaces.
Be careful, my world's about to shatter.

Travel in circles again and again,
always hoping to find someone I know.
Despite the empty crowd, I search in vain.
Now the revelation, now comes the snow.

I can picture them now, all of the masks.
And I wear a mask, do they see me?  No.
This transparency, why? The question asks.
I'm drifting, away from the flame I go.

A disguise turned away from a disguise,
repelling from the great burning fire.
I know now, it is clear before my eyes.
I am a spirit!  Oh, how I tire.

Further into the darkness I traveled.
Shadow becomes a mirror, invisible.
The mystery, which was now unraveled.
Something wrong? Secrets, not divisible.

They were not there.

But where was I?

Where does that leave me?

Now alone in the dark I did sit down
on the cold stone floor, the stairs forsaken.
Smoke rises in the air, within I drown.
The festival had put me there, shaken.

A burning tear runs down my face, my mask.
Onto the frozen ground it had landed.
Steam goes up, far away.  No simple task.
Summer is gone.  I am left trapped, stranded.

The smoke continued to rise from the fire.

The steam from the tear drifted away.

Together, in the sky they merge,

and I, the spirit, joined them.

7-23-08