The unicorn flew, a sprite in the night;
trumpet proclaiming, spirit in flight...
With wings made of rainbows and horn made of gold
bearing might on his back to the gates of Mehlode.
Mehlode opens wide, its arches of love,
the beauteous beast wafts through from above.
His mouth made of foam from distance trevailed
muscles a-tremble, all worn with assail.
Pouring forth a dispatch of danger and war,
stout-hearted he pawed, resting no more.
His rainbow-wings twitched, eyes full with dread
the thought of a foe filling Mehlode with dead.
Bursting forth from the ground with vigor anew
all plans have been made, Mehlode will pursue!
The unicorn held a gnome-king astride,
with a star-riding army flying beside.
With love for their land possessing their hearts,
fury and strength grow on their march.
Glowing with pride, stars harness the sky,
"Forward to battle!" the troopers all cry.
The unicorn surges ahead of his league,
a flash of his rainbows, with gnome in between.
His sinews are churning and nostrils are fire;
onward he burns, battle inspired.
Streams of light in his wake, the star-riders flow
drawing nigh to the evil, nigh to their foe.
Weapons are flourished, trumpets have sung
Battalions thrust forward, stars ever lunge.
The voice of the thunder as universe cracks
is lost in the battle, bound by attack.
Mehlode flies its banner o'er blood thirsted ground
the battle is brief, the death cry is sound.
The army all gather to count all their heads...
the strong who survived, the brave who are dead.
The unicorn sinks, slowly to earth,
the rainbows are hid by the sheath through his girth.
The gnome-king descends, all covered with blood.
"Mehlode is now safe, let us clean off our mud.
Some wounds may not heal, some lives may soon fade,
but Mehlode has the children...the future is made."
He knelt by his friend, the unicorn brave
and cried gentle tears for the life he now gave.
He knew in his heart, the little king gnome
that rainbows when weary won't make it alone.
The unicorn smiled and whispered so clear,
"Mehlode is my home and no price is too dear."
The horn once so gold has faded quite pale,
and the wings of the world will never more sail.
His eyes were now shut and he said to the gnome,
"This is not the end, there is more than one home."
His spirit ascended, translucent with light
the horn ever gold, his rainbows in flight.....
*******
St Patrick's Day was yesterday, and it means so much more to me than drinking green beer and wearing green shirts. I tend to go deeper into my head and my soul ...back into what "Ireland" means to me in my imagination. I have a most romantic vision of the Emerald Isle, and I think of it as in memory of a long-lost previous life. Silly, I know, but to me it is ancient and something medieval deep inside...where thatch covered cottages and vine-covered castles are kept cozy with fireplaces and families. Where sheep wander the roads, and bicycles bling their little bells to get by... mud and rain, and smiles and fields...drinks in the pubs where the hobbits dance on tables and sing.
I grew up in my own little world...to this day I live inside stories and words that nobody else can hear. I read Tolkien over and over again, thirsting and hungering for more, feeling myself falling deep under his spells... Enchantments that keep me secluded ...and deluded, I know. It is a fine delusion. I can have a really cool accent when I talk to myself in "me" head. I am always longing for the curly long red hair that graces the young women in my imagination. Somehow everything is nicer and happier and truly magical in that place. Can you blame me for digging down to stay?
My poem of the day is a reflection of my frame of mind this morning... I feel bursting full of olde stories, full of grand magic and mist... trying to bring it with me to my solid and everyday world. Maybe I can find my own source of magic to share?
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