Deep Winter’s Magic

Mortals are immortals and immortals are mortals, the one living the others’ death and dying the others’ life.’

Two worlds revolve:
night and day, life and death,
seasons switch place
in opposition.

The huntsman in the stars
has ridden from Annwn
leading those who like the cold
from summer’s feast

down silver roads
where wild wolves still howl
and deer run from thickets
into mist and through the veil

down wagonways,
fords and old oak pads
by owl light to meet
in ancient tryst.

Only moonshine illumines
their revenant forms
returning to my home town
every year;

the hag who stores
her soul within a stone,
the woman picking sloes
that are not there,

the boy on the bridge
with his tale of a ghost town
turning pale as he descries
that he’s the ghost.

When worlds collide,
day and night, death and life
seasons switch place
like rival gods.

Fading like stars the huntsman
and his court return
to die our life
as we live their death.


4 thoughts on “Deep Winter’s Magic

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.