Solstice

Through the long dark chambers in the hollow hills,

Pagan voices echoing in the corbelled spaces,

Vanished in the twilight of unremembered souls,

Forgotten rituals left their distant traces.

In clever corridors, now closed to winter chill,

Bats roost where ancient men once mourned

Till the Sun would shine his benediction still

On the darkest day when, waiting for the dawn,

The solstice priests and pilgrims in the night

Would gather in the mound's sacred demesne,

At the deep recess that had not seen the light

To witness that dark places can be blessed

On this most hallowed day of all renewal;

In the majesty of the fulcrum of the year,

At the nadir of heavan's sacred jewel

The patient ghosts of the newly dead drew near

And, through the sure compelling power of the rite,

In sorrow cherished loved ones bound up tight,

In the alchemy of the dark and light,

The souls of the departed would take flight.

Etienne Muller: Born in Cape Town in 1957, has lived in County Kerry in Ireland since 1977 where he runs the family art gallery near the village of sneem. He enjoys building wooden sea-kayaks, windsurfing, playing the guitar and attempting to express his philosiphical outlook in the occasional poem

Thise poem is from a book entitled

By: Etienne, Pam & Michael Muller.