Cylch Blodeuwedd

by JKMacCormack

Return to me, my kinsmen,
with your tongue of dewey hills,
with your words as flowing swells.

Return to free, my kinsmen,
for memory trickles deep,
a well of desire within,
forgotten fallows sleep,
a wish and sorrow again.

Long have I flown the mountains,
outcast, spying, edged in night’s cloak.
Long have I mourned the dawning,
forced to murder, a wandering brigand.

Wild wills cannot bar out the stars,
those fiery pikes out of the velvet expanse,
these I follow, Arianrhod’s web-trance.

Flowers I once was, dancing and sweet,
Cheerful smiles under the summer heat.
But your wrath and honour wilted my youth,
Eager to judge, blot out the heart’s truth.

Smitten by my people,
a brutal whip, your tripping tongues,
“What more can you expect of flowers?”
“Unfaithfulness, aye, no more”

Stripped of my beauty,
you mock this poor owl-form,
a shadow forlorn,
a penance outworn.

Can you continue to shut
your ears like a door to my cries?
Can you contine to strut
your fears like feathers, though they’re lies?

Listen to my shrieks in the dark.
They will remind you of the stark
meaning of the word “unfaithful”.

By the curse you placed on me,
for following my heart’s plea,
so you, out of hate, not love,
cast the dye upon your hands.

I was faithful to love,
and for love, you cast me aside,
like scythed grass to be turned,
like winter peat to be burned.

Yet who was faithful to me?
O kinsmen, who now can judge?
Your judgement reads your guilt.
No one was faithful to me.

Long have I sought for shelter,
trembling, weary, robed in bitter’s cold.
Long have I sent for succor,
bending my maiden pride to life’s winter.

Return to me, my kinsmen,
for I have suffered inhuman soul-blight,
shards sharp like my talons and sight.

Return to free, my kinsmen,
know me as part of your heart,
and for that, I always remain,
haunting and hunting that part
of you that is me, our pain.