Is iad na Amrhain dar Sinsear, na Amrhain dar gClann friesin.
"The Songs of our Ancestors are also the Songs of our Children"
Know that time is an illusion and that you are already long dead. As you raise your cup know that your Children's children's children raise toast to your dim memory and faded bones. Likewise our own forgotten ancestors raise toast to their own, secure in the knowledge of their being in that brief and tiny flame called Life.
A Prayer for the Honored Dead
Ring the cold iron bell thrice, then thrice, then thrice again
To call the raven to the Feast
Rap hard the horses bones on shattered shards of broken bowls
To call the BoneWalker to his Charge
Cast yourself down on muddy ground beside warm ashes
And dare to grasp an ember and toss it to the frozen river.
These are the Stones unbound by Cord, that we now stand in memory
Grown from the buried Bones of fallen dreams
Fed by the offal of worms well-fed on cast-off Masks
And watered by stilled Blood and unshed tears
You we loved
You we honored
You we fought and walked with
You we laid next to and kept our distance from
We heard your thoughts, and dreamt your words
Now we sit and stare and wonder at a silence so complete
Where ever you are, may you find
Peace if you seek rest
Anger if you crave conflict
Love if you would give more
Want if you require perspective
Hunger if you offer bread
And a new life if deeds be left undone that are not ours to do.
May we meet again, if we should meet again.
But may you never leave us, until our memories, too,
Are but the Stones stood in our name.
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cudubh's journal
