The Turning 'Way

Thou seeth we, but do'th, nay. Thou cometh by we, ye only see thy self. Oh, so proud, so full of pride and boastful, hubris, on ye downhill tumble. Oh, we were thee. We were thee, so many times, so many foolish falls...down ages passed, awee. 

Are we? Though, it nay matter, thee...yay! Tell thee, anyway! Days, gone by, were called, White Salmon. That one, makes a smile...called Hesus, in Alba's isles, lailoken, Merlin, when the magic were upon Alth Clut, in Calidon and all Brithain...as well.  

We were bard, to Anwyn, played of that fair land, we hail from. Also, Taliesin,  pleck't, upon that self same harp, made the contraption, and, as all the rest, writ upon the heart. We knew the name of every herb and twig of syllable and star, of nature. We became...of anyone, or anything at all...through word alone, placed, 'just so'.

We are more than thou seeth, or canst see. We are 'that soul', thou art losing, of the race of men. There is, but 'one thread' left, of this thin book of days, hanging to the life, of he.Ye are leaving him, thou fools...and never know, nor ever knew, that thou hath done...this thing.

Amen!


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Taliesin, walks between the worlds of history and myth. The sixth century Welsh bard, called Taliesin, was synonymous with Merlin, Lailoken and other shaman figures of the fifth and sixth centuries. He lives in the soul of some poets.