posted on Feb, 3 2013 @ 03:51 AM
Chalice Well, by Wren-Lucan Lakota Rautha
The spirits called from Silbury Tor
by sacred math, nineteen and four
to consecrate our alchemy
and close for all time nowhere's door
moon and willow loom above us
wind lashes, rain falls to the ground
to feed blood springs of Chalice Well
in Afalon, where skulls are found
there i see the prophetess of truth, who blots
my face with petal-soft perfumed veil
pristine in my mind still, though now she rots
who led me thorn-crowned down the rosy trail
where my brother planted a cruxstave in the ground
tired travelers may meet me, at the well
on the island, in the pasture, on the hill
and join me, rest the night, and drink their fill
--and all may drink, the cup flows over still