Initiation (a Jungian dream comes full circle)

 

Once we talked about
the ways that we would rise,
the cartography of the heart
textures of wrong and right.
The prerogative of the young
is to be myth and sing their own song.

We thought that hope
would not be tamed and caged
that everything would remain
and looking out at the stars
they were almost like notes on a stave
we could not yet read, we could not yet play.

Destiny was there to be fulfilled
we had all our time to hunt, to kill
talking shit on the Cruachan Hill.
Of politics, pride, bravado and lies
unattainable girls, the unlived life
day chasing to the depth of midnight.

Now everything is January coloured
and the skies do weep
we feel the ebb, the flow
the surface shifting beneath
I see the fire dim in your eyes
knowing too it has dimmed in mine.

What love is this my old friend?
Two young boys, now two older men
Oh I never thought this weight
would be so much that we might break.
Turning to me now, you say:
‘I know how you felt on that day’
Nothing more needs to be said
our dreams now belong with our sacred dead.

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  1. Beautifully crafted.

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