THE FOREST GREEN: The Mists of Avalon    
 The Mists of Avalon5 comments
pictureTuesday, April 20th 2004, by Marissa A Spencer

The Mists of Avalon

In the mists of lost Avalon
By the lonely forgotten waters
Memories have e’er slipped
From a past too oft forgotten

Hidden from death battle roar
Fly safely to harbor mist
Slide into black waters flow
Raised hand and wooden oar

Magic runes and incantation
Leads the fading hero’s heart
Left hiding in darkness' gloom
An enchanted island’s resurrection

In the mists of green Avalon
Excalibur rises not again
Now lost is the Isle so fair
Forever from our sight is gone

Seek you penance to nobler kings?
He will elude your desperate gaze.
For he dwells inside your soul
And needs only love to give him wings

Marissa A Spencer
© March 20, 2003


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5 comments

21 Apr 2004 @ 00:54 by shawa : :-)
May Avalon rise again, in our hearts!...A lovely poem, Lady Marissa.  


21 Apr 2004 @ 14:48 by vaxen : Why...
would the Lady give 'Excalibur' to one so unworthy ever again? Avalon, Isle of Apples, is not lost...never was 'lost.'

Those who are not worthy will not be able to see Avalon nor greet the beautiful Lady of the Lake. After all her name is'nt Jesus! She is'nt 'Christian!'

Nor was the 'Graal' there at the so called 'last supper.' The Sange Real is red, more truly blue, as red as her lips and deeper than the starry Abyss.

Thankyou Marissa for the memories.

http://www.tribeofheart.org/  



21 Apr 2004 @ 16:43 by swan : Love the poem
keep writing. Those who are not awake/conscious will not be able to see Avalon. We carry the Grail within, we are the Grail.  


21 Apr 2004 @ 22:40 by skookum : Thank you all
It is an odd thing...as I do my writing. I do not always know where the words come from. From some old memory or something I might have read, who knows. I am sure many here are better educated... more travelled in every way from myself. I am so happy that my subconscious journeys are enjoyed by those I admire.  


22 Apr 2004 @ 06:02 by swan : The best writing
comes from that place of which you speak. That is were I get my words and images too. From the pure stream of inspiration. The soul is fed in that place.  


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