Avalon

Remembering the past like a tapestry woven,

All is found within a single moment,

Temples of love that amore majesty,

Seeing in the depths of my heart’s strings.

An Island, within the shores of Albion,

Tis Glastonbury Tor; the place of Avalon,

Where breath is released from the tar;

While listening to Stonehenge before.

Ample magick; hiding deep in caves,

Shining light in darkness; rivers save,

Returning; remembering, recalling,

The day of Summerlands walking.

Like fairies white shining in the Fae,

Love tis a sight beyond what's played;

Strings of harmony; a lute was saved;

And given to sing muses of past days.

Mesmerizing the light I see,

What is different between you and me?

Lucid spelling tis a dream tapestry;

Where seeing the links is the key.

Key hearted melody of mirror’d rain,

Crying pain of tears; mountains drain;

Recalling mad days; cliffs ledge;

Of recalling the edge again.

Can you single strokes of alphabets,

Loves own word throughout sense,

Before the door unlocks to testament;

Of love on first sight; a blessing sent.

Blue ravens crying around the Sword;

Tis the Island; remaining centrally stored,

By love’s own design; given by anon;

To rebirth the spirit and sing the song!

Aye Meryle; perchance reveal the dream;

Of each illusion to its own scene,

Fancy desires what it cannot need;

And life wants us to beguile greed.

Castle walls around the throne of my heart;

Tis Arthur was preached; then fell apart,

Broken strains of keeping the fates;

Weaving the web of later dates.

Three spinning wheels of time;

Underneath the central core aligned;

Shifting eyes; I see her soul combined;

It's suffocating to watch it blind.

Yet tis I preach; o yes love I speak!

Address the heat! Till end due weak,

Lady of the Lake; mysteriously threaded;

This sight was given as my own wedded.

Voices calling from the furnace’s Los,

It’s preached the dream burns frost,

Yet cold showers of hot magma,

Cooling down visions serpentine daggers.

Yet dead; I was; tis magick to steal,

Tis life I know; revealed; magick sealed;

To know what to need and yield;

As Arthur lost the Source for fields.

Tis monadic fields of flowing praise;

Each flower; specific yelling flowing ways,

Tis see, all as many one’s of one;

For all tis one; and twelve knights sum.

To ballad and rejoice for the Holy Grail,

Set; instill, conquest, prevail,

Loving self as God loves All;

Yet tis preaching before Albion; the fall.

As dragons blood fuels the fires,

The most natural love is desire;

Yet lady; tis frozen I see;

All around in the middle; me standing.

Upon the lake, seeing the vantage of before;

Like time unlocking magicks door,

Tis opened equivalent, to amore,

That love again shines like before.

So as the weave of thread has shown;

Love tis grows; yet stays at home,

Deeper close the heart; the abode;

Of living in feelings closest cold.

A feeling in the warm frosted light,

The grave of a Rose withering delight,

Simple ways to show insight;

That not all is bad in the night.

For light mysteriously shapes,

And love from before moves weights;

Sometimes closest to you, sometimes far;

Yet each morning and evening a star.

So thread the shape of recall your soul;

Tis a throne to your own whole,

The total tis seen when thought ends;

Tis a savior to be raptured from bends.

For the secret of The Cup is This;

To not commit Eucharist if Atheist;

For all that leads to is unforgiveness.

Leaving the end to justice.