There are things between heaven and earth, that are not yours. And they cannot be banished with knowledge or power, for they all must follow the sun’s preordained course…
The Magic of Christmas
For a few days at the very end of the year,
The magic of Christmas saves us from daylife’s gravity:
It enchants and covers dark hearts like a luminous veil,
An illusion of fullness in times of emptiness.
At this time we have the power to reawaken anew
The glow from youth, to tread the road of childhood:
There are so many wonders, snowing down from
The sky as soft as cotton wool, silently. It’s magic.
But to what extent these colourful spells can dispel
The darkness of reality is not a question of heart,
It’s a question of the quality of our soul:
Light comes to lightness – and darkness to the dark.
* * *
The magic of the old lands is gone, the forest is down,
The wizards have departed, the charm is lost,
Yes, a little mockery would not have hurt –
But the criticism was too much and helping hands were missing
And since nothing can come from pure reason –
Because logic is only order and not fullness –
Disintegrated again into the tides,
What arose from them.
I do not want to complain about the loss, over is over,
But that there are no more magicians to come…
And no fairies, yes, because none of you believe in magic anymore.
And all this know-it-all talk from people who stand by and watch
While a paradise fades away. Alas!
As if this had not been experienced often enough…
It takes half a century to grow a forest,
It takes a lifetime to create a home, but
It takes only a few days to raze it all to the ground.
* * *
The Wild Hunt
There are things between heaven and earth, that are not yours
And they cannot be banished with knowledge or power,
For they all must follow the sun’s preordained course:
Rising at the end of times, in-between, when shadows move,
Thoughts foremost, murky swaths from the land of Before,
Whispering first, then moving with laughter over your horizon.
Yeah, first they are a vague guess, but then they become manifest.
Beware in the time between the years, in the Twelfth Night beware,
Beware of wandering alone through the endless mirky woods
That are with deep ponds, forgotten memories without ground,
Do not look down! Do not look back! Do not look in! Above all:
Do not expose yourself – keep away from these shadow realms!
In every branch there lurks a bugbear, for the fairies are all gone,
Now, between the dark stones, there cavort merciless trolls only.
And yet, even in these times of darkness, there is hope:
Within us all is given a holy flame that infuses everything,
That keeps our inner light shining in the darkest of hours.
It keeps us safe in the here and now – if we kept it in time.
But whoever is dark in his heart, no worldly luminaries will help.
For darkness penetrates windows, doors, even massive walls
And no man can save you, when the Wild Hunt calls!
* * *
For further and even more enchanting poems, please check out Athey Thompson’s wonderful poetry-website „Tales of the old forest faeries“: