Lush Hills Of Ireland © Surazeus 2024 12 07 Lush hills of Ireland shimmer in my dreams though I sailed away three centuries ago to escape the thief on the prancing horse who claimed the land of my fathers as his, and though I live four thousand miles west now I hear them call me to come home again. That misty island in the silver sea where my ancestors lived ten thousand years has never changed with spinning of the Earth though people come and go as swarms of bees so strangers claim lush land that long was mine where soil is made from my ancestral bones. I hear strange music in the silent night, heart-leaping luminance of Uillean pipes, soul-enchanting radiance of Celtic harps, and mind-winding flash of the bright banjo, bound by the bodhran drumming wild sea waves, eerie melodies in my helpless dreams. Wild music of lush flowery fairy glens, which sparkle bright with rainbows after showers, inspires my heart with energy of love to view this world, no matter where I dwell, as radiant paradise where magic sprites inhabit mortal bodies with star souls. Though I left Ireland centuries ago wild spirit of her river-flashing vales has never left the landscape of my heart, so I forever play in fairy land our Emerald Isle has mapped into my soul with wingless gambol in deep sunlit glades. Though I hear Ireland call me to her shores, sad spirit of nostalgia haunting me with visions of carefree joy in flowered glades, I know I cannot ever go backward, for I would wander stuck in Neverland through endless loop of stuttered misery. Instead of backward to that shining isle, sweet paradise of long-lost fantasy, I must move forward on the signless road of rugged fortitude I barely see appear before my feet in mirror mist with each brave step of faith in destiny. Lush hills of Ireland shimmer in my dreams, imbuing land where I live now with glamor of timeless beauty shining from my heart, so this land where I dwell now is my home, land where my children play with carefree hope in fate they map on their own signless road.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus visits lush fairy glen in Ireland where he sits on the Wishing Chair and wishes for Brigit who appears in a wedding gown with a basket of apples.
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