For the Wild Places.
The places where the faeries stroked the wildflowers
And hailed the rising sun in salutation.
The deep green hollows that chirruped and nestled
In the twilight gloom...
Oh where are they?
Does the haze of evening sunset,
Stroke only red brick tiles?
When not so long ago its light
Was stroking faery hair and flower center.
I look around at all the building,
Going on...they call it “progression”.
I try to understand the rightness of it all,
But the voice within cries in the silence -
Cries for the lost cooling green,
Longs for the singing in the tall trees -
And yearns to feel the life around me...once again.
Does the flying light around me
Rejoice in my prescence anymore?
Welcoming me to the little island of green,
Letting the dew of light drop onto my face,
along with the face of all creation -
Letting the breath of truth be breathed into me,
and in to all creation.
Letting the flush of love warm my heart forever,
and warming all of creation.
What of these?
Let me walk down the road of yesterday,
Where I was embraced in knowledge,
and heard the voice of all creation.
Let me listen to the life in the dampness
As darkness descends.
Let me wander with the lights,
Down faery roads of love...
Into the greeness I will be absorbed.
What more could I want?
This is for the wild places; this prayer of mine.
This is for the faery life; this prayer of mine.
This is for the truth.
Therese Mackay 24/9/87