Wyrm
Pride and valour
skirtle like poppies in a barley breeze
and I am torn
between the sensibilities of gamekeepers
and the worship of life
For we have preference for peace
when the natural course
is anything but
Anything but a smooth transition
from myth into the fields of youth
where the unknown has majesty and power -
manifest in a swelter
like an August storm
She swooped silent as her shadow
and I knew I’d been seen
So shielding my eyes with one hand,
I stood and gazed
into the dark, silver-breathed mass
that obscured the sun
She came closer
but I did not waver
I felt the warm breeze
driven as if by distant storms
it wafted my hair, my clothes
and the bracken thereabouts
and I was looking into a stern but friendly eye
Like a whale’s
“I come from Fire Wood” I ventured
for remaining silent before a dragon was rude, cowardly
and the eye went hard, then soft
“Yes” came a voice
that felt ancestrally familiar
and scary.
I caught myself
“…and what brings you here?”
I almost pleaded, not quite knowing where we were…
“You have set out your worth in a season of change”
she softly rattled, then added
“And a Seer seeks your insight -
in Zagdegra”
Zagdegra. The lost lands,
A myth I must unlock
that we might realise the potential
buried in these strange lands
The Old Ways
their spirit remains today
mind pictures without words
a knowing
painted in caves
singing of times
forgotten by the blue, blue moon
remembered by the dragons
And before my eye could look deeper into hers
we were swept - swept away….