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Days

August 27, 2017

This poem is taken from Tesserae, my collection of poetry, available in paperback and E-book.
http://www.bjedwards.co.uk

The greying days, the mellow days, the days of smoke and golden leaf.
The rueful days of darker and shorter, the summoning of a different magic.
The baleful days, the days of ceremony and ritual, fire and chant.
Days that are suspended on threads of dreams,
Days that tread hard upon our souls.
Days of distant memory, distant myth.
Days of frost and expectation, days of naked tree and lonely stone.
Days of folklore and ancient memory, days of song and story.

Days of remembrance, reflection, joy.
Days of ancestor, wisdom and the dead.
Days of shadow, mist and hope.
Days of sparks, wood and barrow,
Slumbering hearts and dreaming spirits.
Days that call, days that gleam with the flames of distant voices.

Days of honey, days of green.
Days of sun and bright-lit grove.
Days of laughter, plenty, glory,
Days of renewal, warmth and life.
Golden days, long days, days of dreaming beside brook and stream.
Days filled with the living, the fertile earth,
Days of youth, passion and birth.
Days of glistening glade and sunny meadows,
Days that are sun-blessed and free.

Moon days, sun days, the goddess and the god.
Days of the bear, days of the stag.

Nights filled with glimmering stars,
Bands of colour, myriad thoughts.
Nights of bliss and dormant pleasure,
Nights of power, rites and bliss.
Nights that bind and hold the soul,
Nights that reflect the old magic and give it purpose.
Nights of glorious ideas, nights of fury and dyeing gods.
Nights of glimmering, entrancing infinity,
Nights of bright fire and bold light.

Show us and find us;
We let you in to guide us.
Come close to us in these days and nights,
Bless us with your presence, your cold warmth.
Days and nights, magic and gods, ancestors and ritual.
Long expectant wonderings and long repeated dreams.
Memories that grow, memories that expand,
Memories that are gathered up by the harvest of the land.

Good days, bad days, long days, short days.
Warm nights, cold nights, nights that bring snow, nights that bring rain.
All the days spread behind us,
All the nights spread in front of us.
Gazing, watching, hoping, wishing,
Seeking, searching for the perfect union, the perfect time.
Days, all the many long days that make up a life,
All the days that make up a season, a time.
Days that rap themselves around our hearts and squeeze.
Days that make the land sacred and the spirit whole.

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From → Fiction, Poetry

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