The Falcon Sings
This song is written in an 11th century split form that may not display well on WordPress,
but were I there with you at the Abbey portal at dawn’s kiss, I would would sing to friends old and new — who know of the pains of creation.
The songs are from the willows scarce heard before the dawn,
and n’er know a single voice, nor ancient earth bound thrum.
‘Tis the echo of my yearning, a quest for ever gentle –
eager hand to join with mine ‘round the Staff of Covenant.
Are you the one I’m needing to complete the Braid of Tears?
Will you brave the rift of scorn and tame the flailing seasons
that will shriek of icy souls burned in the Forge of Greed,
or load my pack with thorny rocks that rend my guileless flesh ?
Do not answer, lest you lie and shatter my velvet dreams
of children’s eyes of wonder at the prancing of the rain,
and whispers of the moonlight that ride the birthing waves
out – out to the beginning of this Path of Orthenbe.
I gird my loins with petals fresh from the nether bloomings
of the silent shuffle thistle that can scratch the itch of time,
for bitter arrows of fear cannot pierce the weave of trust
that dusts the glomming hush that caresses innocence.
I need no squire of renown nor muscled arm of boastful,
but seek a minstrel of Light that can pluck the fluted reeds,
and coax the notes of knowing from betwixt the space of be;
for the battle is ‘gainst lonely and the enemy ever me.