A Pilgrimage

Like ancient days

I make this journey, taking the sacred path

through modern means.

The same sunrise peeks over the horizon, breaking a new dawn. New

but so very old still.

 

my partner is beside me,

a knight in plain clothes

with a princess who has a nose piercing.

 

We make our way up to the mound, where I spy the roofless tower

of St Michael’s Church

or as the Welsh would say, ‘Ynys Wydrin’ meaning

‘Isle of Glass’ in my tongue. Makes me wish I had a boat.

 

The wind pushes me further on my quest,

as if the small The Morrigan figurine in my pocket guides me.

 

I feel the new spring rays start to cusp my face,

as I touch this stone glass,

the roughness of labour and service under my fingertips.

 

Now the stars are disappearing

to make way for the dyed crimson sky.

 

Hither, O pilgrim!

 

I hear a voice cry

Welcome withering one,

The wanderer with nowhere to go.

 

Yes yes yes, take me to Annwn

the fairy world underneath

the Tor, I wish to rid myself of this place.

 

I step into a new dawn, a new day, changed.

I’m one with the fairies now. 

As a pilgrimage, I’ll soon return home.