Ancient Poetry

In the wild, grey wilderness of gealtach mind madwoman's scáth, shadow self, I unwind sraith scream echoes, physics contorted in taibhse pain As I walk the ridge, druím, of my own private descendant's brain The festival of the dead, Samhain's hollow night marbh, dead weight presses, sack of bones, devoid of light The ainnir, maiden, of youth and love, now lost uaigneas, loneliness, that gapes, a void, a dark abyss, an endless ocean But like a díthcheannaithe, I rise, headless, free In the dorchadas, darkness, of my deepest, most elusive me neach, creature, reborn from ashes, from the burnt-out core mad spirit, that whispers secrets to the wind, and yawns in reply