Open book old photos took

Of day's gone by on sacred brook.

Who am I, who now stands nigh?

Oh, threaded tapestry of years gone by!

Looking out beyond the sea,

I see what things forgotten be.

Blood from distant shores run deep

Thru time and space to haunt and steep,

From myth and legends dragons keep

To modern cities' pavin' street.

I seek a glimpse into the past

To grasp a thread of totem's taps,

To find a hope for future task,

To bring forth something

Hallowed from ancient's path.

I feel the chill of blood bound kings,

Whose eyes held carnage in their rings;

Filled with vendetta's bitter tree

Choked with violent aristocracy.

I see my tree with arms held high

In reverent homage to the Sky;

Yet roots belie another tie

To cursed brothers under cry.

Welsh, Scot and Yorkshire too

From which a royal ransom due

Of devils' lot genetic brew.

And let it not be forgotten,

The blood of those ill begotten

Across the way no dowry paid

On Emerald Isles in long gone days.

Come low now, Holy Church on high

And place your hand upon my thigh,

A new world order we decry

With bread and wine - a scepters prize,

Of Holy King but crucified.

Unite the kingdoms to empire

And rule the world with smoke and fire.

See then, oh valiant man of pride,

On four horses you did ride,

For unholy heaven's suicide

And bleed the world with homicide.

Is this the hope that we belie

To reap a crop of genocide,

Swear an oath to sword and king,

Fall and bend and break and glean,

Turn blind eye to heart and queen,

And mask a truth as yet unseen?

Yet this was not the only path

That holds a key in memories sap.

Beneath the ancient canopy

Is yet another mystery.

Look deeply now to nest and hallow,

Alight thou freely thru vines and follow;

For there is much more still to swallow.

There is story yet untold

Of old forgotten sacred grove.

And In the leaves of every tree

Is told a tail not quit perceive.

Of valiant love of common law

And freedom from the tyrant's claw

Of hopes and dreams of harmony

That walked upon the gallant breeze.

Frosted morning silent lake,

Witches' brew on beaded slate;

Beneath are passions poised to wake

Far below the waters quake.

Who is this lady tied to me

Dwelled once beyond the sea,

In lore of magic's mystery?

This lady of the lake

Whom church bells did forsake

Loclynn my blood to Sabat's pride

Below blue water she didst hide.

Beneath Loclynn's solemn tide

Lay the sword that kings did prize.

Dance around the old grove tree,

Passions unfurl in ecstasy,

Old dark rituals do unfold

A well worn tattered magic bone

Divine the future yet unknown

Cast forth the druids' talking stone.

Look deeply inward to root's desire

Where passion burns with Emerald fire

And touch your soul to cloven shores

Of ancient goddess Eire.

There cast your gaze

To westward sea

Were sun leads moon

In night's dark mystery.

Redes and spells cast from wand's tip

Stuck with pitch on hidden lip

Written with cryptic twigs and thickets

Of willow wisps and metered snippets.

All this to find

From time to time in palatines

And children's rhythms,

The mystery opened from the shelf

In tales of dwarf and elf.

Kinsmen now your lore did bring

This song with hope alive to sing;

'Oh summer land, Oh summer land,

Oh home of long stretched soul,

To summer land, to summer land

To you I will one day go.'

Blood is the passage of life thru time,

The sap that feeds the generation's vine.

For now I stand on western lore

Land of dreams on furthest shore

Hatred and virtue like grains of sand

Have loosely fallen from my hand.

I close my eyes and try to see

A world less filled with vanity.

Where fairies sit on mossy thrones

Beneath the hanging willow's tome.

And every passer by that skips

Must stop and grace them with a kiss.

Such is fancy I do admit,

But nonetheless they could exist,

For thru the course they've made the trip

Upon the harps of children's lips.