The First Kingdom
I dream of
the first kingdom
empire of four
water wood earth and sky
when we knew
we did not rule,
when a hand outlined
in ocher
tried to make us real;
when water set to boil
in the round womb of the cauldron
gave magic,
when our skin was honeysuckle,
our tongues fluent in bird,
our hands for making not breaking,
each others' blood too precious to shed
except in the green sacrifice.
Now I watch
the black beyond night
billow out.
The poison steam of brittle brains
evaporating madness
cracks the cauldron.
Sacrifice is colorless.
The lie of ownership replaces
creation's light in our eye. This empire
of assassins, where love is only
an argument of muscle and bone,
where the last fires burn and
birds drop dead from the sky
must pass away, its darkness carried
from the earth, before
the first kingdom can become
the last.
September 2020
posted for Fireblossom at
Note: in Celtic mythology, cauldrons symbolized many things magical: birth, death, endless plenty and the strongest magic of resurrection. They've been found in many Iron Age burial sites, and later Christianized in the concept of the Holy Grail. The Cauldron in Celtic Life
Images: Hand Painting, Chauvet Cave,circa 32,000 BP
Title unknown, by Brooke Shaden Fair Use
