Faery Lore

All the mystics have been searching
for the turning point of truth
on which the fool and poet stumble
through alacrity of youth
in the thrall of dingy nightclubs
and on dark suburban parks
they see me at their festivals,
redraw me in their arts
but take care to never greet me
for should we meet in truth
I am oath-bound to abduct them
to the golden land of youth
where to look upon my marvels
is to see the forms of time,
my starlit faerie castle
eclipsing summer sunshine
like a dream of silver spaceships
leaving brightest seekers blind.
Whilst the mystics keep on searching
leave my sights for eldritch eyes;
to the poets, to the madmen,
to the castles of the skies.

Glastonbury 2000


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