Sangreal

Broken monoliths pass me by,
Where weeping statues wish to fly,
As their tears collect in my chalice,
Purification of malice.
And down the winding road I go,
Observed by the stag and the crow.
Percival passes through my being,
And I through him, a ghostly dream.
The willow is where the path breaks,
The way to the chapel, for my sake.
I lay myself down at the well,
This is home, this is where I dwell.
Lighted candles sing, I drift to sleep.
This is not the end, do not weep.
The tears, by magick they are blood.
It is here that the fountain did flood.

4-6-11

Reviews

[Britt Foster]

This evokes beautiful imagery, very well done! I love your word choice and the clearly magicical tone that each line contains. Funny that this would be the first poem I clicked on because I've just begun studying paganism again. Synchronicities are hidden everywhere, it seems. I particularly like the lines "As their tears collect in my chalice, purification of malice".