Land of Faerie


Come to the amber forest
to the sacred grove of burning stones
come brave soldier to the cauldron of Ana
place your cheek on my burnished bowl
the sword will crease your throat asunder
from ear to ear deft and clean
until your soul, liquid in the bowl
makes pale your face to charge the pole
and spring-wreathed in wildest primrose
your body, perfumed for the journey.

Now I be the eyes of my tribe
a vision glints through gilded fire
glass towers shimmer fathoms below
swallowed in a raging torrent
made invisible eons ago
a watery grave for our crystal isle
sweet land of beginnings
fleet memory of belonging
origins for briefest time recalled
our land of faerie, citadel of crystal
conjured from pain of sacrifice
remembered for you my tribe
where tales live on
we all survive




Pamela Sidney 1999