Sonnet | Mystic

Mystic by Liam Whinery

A moonless night upon a river shore,

where we gathered, and made ready for camp,

to escape man’s routine for something more

 A distant realm beyond this place we tramp

With our bonfire blazing, we could begin.

The bag she held of fruit the gods begat,

Priestess of love conveyed wisdom therein.

We fed and then, in our circle did chant.

Holding flesh of long-dead gods in our hands,

We take our last sane breath before we taste,

Honey and earth of our ancient green lands

We pass through gates on paths to be retraced.

Now with these links repaired to unseen ones

I can return, sure of our connection.