Poem: The Secret Commonwealth


When our world wanes,
Theirs waxes

While we are in the depths of winter,
Fern-curled, involute,
A dying ember in the throat of December

That’s when sparks collide,
Green men thawing in solstitial madness,
Each one alert to seedbursts –
The collected secrets of an invisible nation

Under the oaks,
When The Commonwealth is in session,
The senators pour forth from acorn cups
The nectar of their wisdom

With the elemental refrain
Of ancients, worn and weary,
Dancing in the rain, souls unchained
From decay’s fertile misery

Their faces carved on misericords,
Infecting the pews of churches,
Grotesque mouths, spewing leaves,
Yew berries and hemlocks weaves,
Will see them all deserted

When the primal temple,
The faery faith,
From the soil is resurrected,
Tired monotheists, clutching straws,
To paganism defected

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