Post by Chad on May 16, 2013 5:43:51 GMT -1
The rumbling of thunder, flashes of lightning, gallant display of forces beyond our scope.
I humbly watch and listen in awe as Taran weaves magic of his own, displays his power through the sky.
The sun, shining brightly, offers the light of hope.
Belyn shines through the ages, offering his illumination.
The rivers, cascading waterfalls, rushing proudly of their own power.
Yet, ever so gentle, Dôn gives us sustenance.
Such verdant, green earth, fertile, giving birth to the flowers, vegetation, and trees.
What gifts of life, does the mother, Modron bring.
The youth, and drive, the purpose, yet not to take life too seriously, or you will not see it's beauty.
The inspiration that guides the poet's pen, is a gift from Mabon.
The crops, bearing the people the rewards of their toils.
Such is the blessing of Amaethon.
The home, the place where one is safe in the arms of the family.
Also, are they safe by the protection of Braidd.
The strong gallop of the steed, constant and steady, full of power.
The birds who sing in the trees, sing of Rhiannon.
Spear in hand, the fiery courage in the one called Llew.
Reminds us that there is a hero in us all.
All of those named, and many who are not, the Old Gods.
They did not forget, paitiently waiting for the people to sing their names again.
If one ever wonders where the Old Gods have gone, all they need do is look around. It is clear then, they have never left in the first place.
An ocean seperates me from the land of my ancestors.
Millennia seperates us all from the time where one would look around them and see the gods everywhere.
Here's to the hope that the chorus of humanity include the voices of those who sing the names of the Old Gods, of the land spirits, and of the ancestors.
I humbly watch and listen in awe as Taran weaves magic of his own, displays his power through the sky.
The sun, shining brightly, offers the light of hope.
Belyn shines through the ages, offering his illumination.
The rivers, cascading waterfalls, rushing proudly of their own power.
Yet, ever so gentle, Dôn gives us sustenance.
Such verdant, green earth, fertile, giving birth to the flowers, vegetation, and trees.
What gifts of life, does the mother, Modron bring.
The youth, and drive, the purpose, yet not to take life too seriously, or you will not see it's beauty.
The inspiration that guides the poet's pen, is a gift from Mabon.
The crops, bearing the people the rewards of their toils.
Such is the blessing of Amaethon.
The home, the place where one is safe in the arms of the family.
Also, are they safe by the protection of Braidd.
The strong gallop of the steed, constant and steady, full of power.
The birds who sing in the trees, sing of Rhiannon.
Spear in hand, the fiery courage in the one called Llew.
Reminds us that there is a hero in us all.
All of those named, and many who are not, the Old Gods.
They did not forget, paitiently waiting for the people to sing their names again.
If one ever wonders where the Old Gods have gone, all they need do is look around. It is clear then, they have never left in the first place.
An ocean seperates me from the land of my ancestors.
Millennia seperates us all from the time where one would look around them and see the gods everywhere.
Here's to the hope that the chorus of humanity include the voices of those who sing the names of the Old Gods, of the land spirits, and of the ancestors.