Mistborne Cycle (Part I): Once and Future Dreams

Veils of silver mist range
Embracing about my age-worn
And experience-banished vision.
The reins of my silent mount,
hooves clicking on the unseen
Bedrock of the Moher cliffs,
Are grasped tightly in hand
As I wander warily forward,
Intent on distant pounding
Upon seaside rocks below....

Peals of thunder charged
The cold black air with
Drumming anticipation.
Our eager procession
Marched steadily midst
Grey-orange stone towers,
Beneath flickering flames
And glimmering stars
Ready to perform our
Somber ecstatic Samhain's task.
Cultures united would
The land that night be,
The Old Ways rekindled
To burn regally away the
Despair-born rust upon
The iron of our Celtic blades.
The Ring would future crown,
In ancient hengéd might,
The new-found youth
Of Pendragon brood....

Morning dew settles 'pon
My wrinkled brow before
Cascading chillingly down
My white-bristled cheek.
Old leather armor creaks
Lightly to the cue of my bones
As I slowly settle wistfully
Beside the swaying tree,
Limbs dancing in the gentle
Spray of salty wind....

And I happily tasted Sailé's
Gentle, wave-tossed exhalations
As the breeze swept back
My golden Irish mane
And wrinkled the white,
Crimson griffin-breasted
Sail of my father's craft.
With Badon's battle behind,
And Britannia in the Bear's
Strongly loving hands,
No more my sword nor
Gaelic song was needed.
Caliborn-bred peace
Was mine and His,
And naught but the softly
Cooing caress of my
Flighty mistress Eire
Could battle-starved muscles
Quickly sooth in broad
Green plains and rounded sidh....

In cold drafts of crying air
The seagulls glide before me,
Dancing in the last wisps
Of the morning mist.
My grgreyingount, in
venerable mirror to myself,
Is grazing loudly to my
Aching rear flank,
Hooves tapping lightly
His eager feeding-fury....

I rocked precariously,
Bringing my blade down upon
The Saxon helm careening
To intercept my frothing
Battle-crazed mount.
War drums declared the rhythm
Of my hammering heart
As I reined my charge
Together with my Companions,
Crisp vision questing
For my Arturus,
My Bear separated
From His loyal cubs.
The dragon's roar turned
My horn-helmed head
To the bloody embrace
My Lord in hating
Coupling had shared
With his bastard child,
Swords striking equally deep....

The old wound thrusts pain
Deep into my chest,
And I in futile gesture
Cup my hands to my side,
Memories of Camlan lost
In dwindling sleepy shadows
To this reminder of aching reality.
That I have returned home
Is small recompense to the
Legendary glory of Our circle....

She had come quickly from
Her lake-bound isle,
Scrying His passing in the tide.
And now that ethereal
Sprite of the waters,
Last true ally beside
His few surviving Companions,
Was here to claim Him
And the Sword of Kings,
Saving both beneath the waves
For a time to darkly come.
It was I who aided her
In the deliverance of His
Deathly crimson regal form
To her deep abode.
It was she who delivered
Me from the death
Piercingly promised
By the arrow shot into my side;
Denying me the rest I wished....

My once monarch is in
Fatherly embrace
A grave resident 'pon the Isle;
Guest of that faerie,
Swan-maiden enchantress.
The lyre in my bags,
In the tales I could spread,
Bought me the title Merlin,
Forever to remember peace
I could not have again.

I can but pray Our legend
And His Right deeds
In many village canted
'Cross the land and waters
Has bought also the
Indebted care of my Lady
Of the faerie lake.
(And my grave in quiet waters.)
For as always, my place
Is beside my present, future King.

This sunny vision is eclipsed
Easily by a shadow
Of Earth and Time.
Yet it is a dream I have....