- Author
- 03/17/2015
- 664 Words
- 1,320 Views
- 2 Comments
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Poetry of M - 6. Joraan's Lament (The Memory Of Trees)
div> I wrote this poem as the unwritten lyrics behind Enya's haunting piece The Memory of Trees.
Here is the music if you'd like to listen along while reading:
Joraan sat back and looked at Moira for long moments. Something in his eyes opened something up in Moira to feelings. Joraan was more affected by all this than he had been letting on…Moira could feel this now.
“I have a way of telling you better than just description, if you will allow me.” Joraan said leaning forward, holding Moira’s gaze.
Moira acknowledged with a ‘go ahead’ gesture…eager to understand.
From somewhere, Moira could not fathom where, Joraan produced a lyre. It looked like a small harp, but it was beautifully adorned with every jewel and precious metal ever conceived by God. Moira gasped despite herself as the instrument twinkled before her.
Joraan plucked a few golden strands of the lyre and the room was suddenly filled with a beautiful if melancholy music. Then Joraan’s voice rose and filled the room with a tenor unlike any other Moira had ever heard. The words were sung in a languid language that Moira had no knowledge of, but the words changed in her head and became English to her ears.
Joraan sang his Lament:
‘There lives still in my mind
a green kingdom of life
A land filled with my kind
All struck down in strife
Warm light sifts through the leaves
In my memory of trees
From the North to the South
From the East To the West
From Shae'non to Du'blon
Was the Forest Av'lon
Birds sang of life by the day
And
Sídhe sang of love by the night
In my memory of trees
In my mind there yet lives
This world lost to my eyes
Through my tears I still see
Emerald light shines down so true
On my lost love that was once you
Golden leaves fall down around you
My lost love who has gone now
Forever
From the North to the South
From the East to the West
Verdant life burgeoned forth
This green land of the blessed
Ice winds fell from the sky
and
Mortal men begged to die
From the North to the South
From the East to the West
Our trees fell to our blades
Keeping men from their test
Smoke rose up into the gloom
Av'lon fell to her doom
Surrendered
There lives still in my mind
A long memory of trees
My deathless eyes can still see
What was swept by the tide
From the North to the South
From the East to the West
My eyes see without aid
Things that live on no more
I still see them. I can see them...’
The last chords of the song held in the air and an extraordinary quiet seemed to rest on the cottage and the land about almost as if the land itself had been listening and remembering.
Moira brushed at tears on her face that she did not know that she’d accumulated. She had seen the vaulted woods set like emerald cathedrals. She had smelled the herbal harmony of forests long gone…a place gone from this Ireland that once existed eons ago, but was no more and could never be again. At once Moira felt a grief as deep as any she’d ever known and at the same time….a dreadful hideous anger at her own kind….and it was then that she understood the Fae and their hate…and also the terrible loss under which Joraan pined. But there was a grief there in Joraan deeper even than this dreadfully immortal grief at the loss of his beloved world…
Joraan himself sat as still as death…his eyes no longer seeing the living world as it was, but as it once was.
When Moira finally found her voice, she asked in a husky whisper: “What was her name, Joraan?”
“…..Mayra.” his voice whispered almost soundlessly. His own eyes had welled…and his fair cheeks too glistened with golden tears.
div> The story involves two protagonists: a human Celtic Archeologist and an ancient Sídhe, elflike beings commonly known as Leprechauns. He is the last of his kind. This is his lament.
I hope you enjoyed this.
Thank you for reading.
-
2
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
You are not currently following this story. Be sure to follow to keep up to date with new chapters.
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign UpSign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.