by Caél Ó Maolain
The sun falls down below the rim of the sky And the crescent moon hangs overhead. Slowly, one by one, the stars ignite from twilight As the breeze brings coolness from on high. What are these things to me were said? The ones that brought me this inner sight? Fourteen courses of Heavenly bread Sent to me feasting. I don't know why. Encountering moonbeams that tumble around Between the red-gold streaks of glorious union. Forward and onward the words seem to speak. Look for the age few others have found. Why have these things never been done When the one that they're for we don't need to seek? At the sight of the promise we've turn tail and run, Listen now slowly to Heavenly sound. O, what an evening. O, what divine Inspiration comes from sources unsought. Of faith in a capsule that sheds then its skin Will bring out the wonder of what can be mine. Knowing what's needed and knowing what's sought, Knowing what's written beneath ink and pen Will find a way slowly to what can't be bought. Written with passion on every line.
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