When the wisps call you home: Celtic poetry

Updated: Nov 24, 2020

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There was a mound from our ancient past, Mist slipping over the long, flowing grass, There stood alone a silhouette of stone, Marking a grave, guarding the bones. For deep beneath this weather-scarred thing, Rests the bones of a long, lost king. His body rests below, but soul long free, Watching over the world: earth, sky and sea.


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When a being dies it travels the light, A judgement measures: dark or bright? This man, this king, like nothing long seen, His heroic heart: no darkness- all clean, He joins us, helps us, we wisps and sprites, We watch them, we help them, hidden from sight, For we are the dead, the long passed on, Our fires burn only when the sun is gone.


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In darkness only we watch over this mortal side, When comes daylight we shrink and we hide, Oblivion passes like seconds, hours, days, Where once we saw colours, now only greys, But our flickering fires still guide their way, Sealing their fate so they’ll join us one day. Until that moment, we are spirits long passed, We flow with that mist which slips through that grass.


Join us.




First published 3 Dec 2017. Republished 24 Nov 2020.

#FantasyPoetry #MythsAndLegends #PoemsAboutLife #PoemsAboutDeath

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