Old Soul

From Pleiades and Pegasus
to Cassiopeia and Centaurus –
our Souls are Seeds of the Cosmos,
cultivated from all that is infinite.

I am from the clay of ancient lands –
sculpted by Viking, Celtic, and Saxon hands
in forgotten times, forgotten history…
long and long ago.

From my longhouse to my longship,
I sailed upon cold Nordic Seas
‘neath a procession of stars
to navigate the night,
and drinking light…
from the Moon’s
immortal cup.

I’ve traveled far to every temple,
obelisk, and pillar of mystic stone
where I bled and perished,
and rose anew…
paying passage for my homage
with ancient gold coins
stamped in the mint
of my memory.

Beneath the Celtic sunsets
of amethyst, topaz, and crimson reds…
I walked in tangled fields
of thistle blue
and primrose brimmed with dew…
all of it veiled under
every Equinox and Solstice
and Midnight Star…
they were the jewels
that I wore.

I’ve heard the murmurings
of Saxon benedictions –
as they broke
my bread
and heart…
my head bowed
while on bended knee
in St. Æthelwold’s hall.
I whispered in supplication –
a prayer by candlelight dim…
my shadow, humbled against the wall.

The Ancients eclipse me ‘neath waxing moons,
sharing their wisdom, like Oracle Runes –
scattered upon my primeval spirit
through the strands of years…
brushing me, hushing me,
shifting, yet whole…
writes the poet,
in sanctum,
old soul.

© Literary Remains

16 thoughts on “Old Soul

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