East of the Sun
East of the Sun, below the rim,
Of Earth’s prodigious span,
A Queen ruled o’er twenty tribes,
A brave, eternal clan…
Like the land of Tir Na Noc,
The land of ever young,
This wild and wondrous people,
Were from ancient aeons flung,
The Queen, Elara Gilderthorn,
Was fair and true and wise,
With flowing dresses spun of silk,
And blazing hazel eyes,
She grew an herb of potency,
That rendered perfect sight,
When walking past the twilight veil,
And into dankest night,
Eyes ablaze by magic ways,
Could fathom darksome places,
Any cave, or dark enclave,
Or occult shady spaces,
So hunters looking for their prey,
Would walk into the twilight,
Catching sight of animals,
Awaking in the moonlight,
Every shot was swift as rain,
The target sure in view,
Deer and buck and warthog dead,
With every dart they blew,
The healers and the soothsayers,
Would walk the paths with ease,
Eyes alight with second sight,
As they surveyed the trees,
Down behind the river camps,
Where water lapped the grass,
They talked for hours, under bowers,
Near the mountain pass,
The wisdom of the ancients,
Was a cauldron pot of broth,
Flickering in ember beds,
And circled by the moth,
The Queen surveyed each mind with skill,
And called them all to worship,
Filling halls with trumpet calls,
To elevate their kinship,
The scribes recorded meetings bright,
The words arrayed on paper,
Incense rising up like ghosts,
And melting into vapour,
Seven aeons dreaming soft,
And roaming free as one,
Saw the firey faery blood,
Evolve beneath the sun…
AD Lovkis, 30/05/25
adamdaniel 