Prose or Poem

Neither Prose or Poem

He might be my ancient ancestor
that Old God Brenin Llwyd
or even as Gwyn ap Nudd
the Grey King of the mists
who sat on Cader Idris and Eryri.
A powerful figure, a proud deity
seen as a threat to change
by priests of a foreign God.
He must have been popular

for they gave him a bad name.
and bedevilled him with shame.

Strange, their God is All  Love
and in His name came
slaughter and torture of
men, women and children
by fire, rope and sword
so to teach a world their Word.
Experts with cruel imagination
with lessons on fear, devil and sin.
Many years have passed, their priests
are now branded by folly and misdeed.

An awakening has come, for some,
for the Old Gods still live in popular tales
now that we have learned
to reverse the meaning and found
a world alive with fairies,
elemental energy and the ever living ones.

We embrace now Herbalists, Healers, Diviners
Druids, Seers and Wise Women in praise of children.
No fears of dying and death
for all is cyclic, with evidence
from past lives, we all rotate.

From  A Heron’s View contributing poet to Art of Transition