the Boar Kingby Ian Anderson
copyright 1999 On Pendartthens grassy slopes
Abandoned walls sink in dank mire,
Sheep trampled protruding cornices
Forested with pale lichen and rich moss
Where mistletoe drops from sagging oaks
Far from Caer Idris watchful peak,
Falling toward the pounding sea. A torch atop the distant tor
Casts lurid glare in roiling fog
Like weak light from a sickly sun.
The spell that cast the stones in place
Still holds the old souls thrall.
Barrow warriors stalk the moor,
Silver armor finds the dark moons light.
The mirror pool shows a vision
No living human has yet seen
Revealing cold Atlantis grief. The wild boar has slaked his thirst
To carry dreams from haunted waters.
A princely hunter seeks his heart,
Spilling secrets to the wind.
Kneeling down before the great one
Touching hot dark blood to his lips
To see the hosts ride forth in joyous attire,
To see the fragile pearlescent towers
Rise above the gardens of delight.
To hear the words of power voiced anew,
reverberating through the earth. To see the dead king at his feet
Imploring him with his eyes last spark
To make a sacred feast,
Its path eased by red black wine,
Then fasting for vision to return.
Wrapped up in the moist boar hide
Upon the flat grey rock of sacrifice
Among the glistening hungry stars,
A sickle shaped crown with seven gems
Is raised above his lordly head. The sow appears before him,
Enraptured with her vengeance,
Demanding royal obeisance,
Her dark heart gorged with lust.
He meets her eye with noble poise,
Garbed in the raiment of the king.
Will she let him live to rule,
Or will she shred this rank pretender? Fresh blood on frosty grass
Beside the upturned chalice
Divined in grey dawns gathering light
Tells the tale that none shall hear,
For sovereignty holds close to her breast
The secrets of the mother devourer,
The first and last,
Who will taste the ashes of The end of time,
Who rules in primal darkness,
Who eats the rotting fruit
And the deep growing fungus,
Who calls her children home again
To answer the call of blood to blood. Copyright 1999 Ian D. Anderson