ramblings and things
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Magyck
Stepping stones above the water
Form path into this sacred place
At centre of encircling trees
Stood by waterfall's base.
Chant the proper words with care
And that pathway will appear
And the ending of the journey
Draws significantly near.
Chant the words incorrectly,
A mistake, one word wrong
The stones remain invisible
So way of entry is gone
Do not try to forge the water
For it has a cold that seeps
Before the guarding stream
Carries bodies to its deeps.
But, say those words correctly
With a lilting style and grace
And those stones seem to flow
To take a seeker to the place.
The Magyck swirls around,
The silence encloses tight
The shimmering in the air
Brings an enhanced sight.
This throne room of Faerieland,
Though the Faeries are long gone,
Hangs there between dimensions
The mystery living on and on.
Speak the wishes clearly
But kept inside the head
And, maybe just maybe,
Those wishes may be read,
Maybe even granted
Though in truth very very few
For the place is old and wise,
And ambition not new.
With the placing of the words
A cold wind descends
Signalling to the supplicant
Time of audience ends.
Across the stepping stones
Floating in the still air
Until as foot touches ground
They are no longer there.
This is a place of Magyck
Where are planted those seeds
Which may, in time, with luck
Turn such thoughts into deeds.
Form path into this sacred place
At centre of encircling trees
Stood by waterfall's base.
Chant the proper words with care
And that pathway will appear
And the ending of the journey
Draws significantly near.
Chant the words incorrectly,
A mistake, one word wrong
The stones remain invisible
So way of entry is gone
Do not try to forge the water
For it has a cold that seeps
Before the guarding stream
Carries bodies to its deeps.
But, say those words correctly
With a lilting style and grace
And those stones seem to flow
To take a seeker to the place.
The Magyck swirls around,
The silence encloses tight
The shimmering in the air
Brings an enhanced sight.
This throne room of Faerieland,
Though the Faeries are long gone,
Hangs there between dimensions
The mystery living on and on.
Speak the wishes clearly
But kept inside the head
And, maybe just maybe,
Those wishes may be read,
Maybe even granted
Though in truth very very few
For the place is old and wise,
And ambition not new.
With the placing of the words
A cold wind descends
Signalling to the supplicant
Time of audience ends.
Across the stepping stones
Floating in the still air
Until as foot touches ground
They are no longer there.
This is a place of Magyck
Where are planted those seeds
Which may, in time, with luck
Turn such thoughts into deeds.
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Magyck
Magyck