Iliterate Poet

A dumping ground for my works in progress.

27 Jun 2011

Mount Top Harp

Inspired by Mythical Irish folklore, with a smidgeon of Italian Renaissance for good measure.


Harp, of the mountain top;
Harp from beyond the dell.
Two harps to choose,
And cast that spell.

From treacherous ground,
To a mound so round.
Harmony to the din,
And realisation it's within.

Follow now your chartered brook.
Make thine eyes become unstuck.
From harboured walls; set free;
Ventured far into sea.

Choose tranquil waves - onward pale.
Avoid the torrent of the Gail.
Sail toward that luminescent,
Far off distance shore.

United by that one particular law!
Nature at the core;
So choose that door,
Upon which your future rests.

And listen to the harps at their best.
Be the guest and the host;
Lift thy tankered for the toast;
Now drink the wine of your good liking.

Feel the lightening striking,
Hitting the spring of wisdom's well;
Scented with a vibrant smell:
Harp from beyond the dell.
With cords from hell,
We bid you farewell.

Mount top Harp of harmony;
Spanning notes of the journey;
Bound by every sound that is worthy.
And onward bound the quest will be,
From Gene to Gene and tree to tree;
Until that treasure is begot.
And man remembers what it forgot.

Sages down the line;
Seers throughout time;
Subtly sublime in their masterful rhyme,
Directed through mine.
For future signs in peoples minds.

Guardian of the great toil,
Where buried treasure lay in soil.
Excavated by unfading lights gone by;
Showed the path with lantern high;
Showed the ground a one with sky.

Taishatrin folk did tell the tale,
Intent was on the vision bent,
Future lent before its sent.
Tale of the merriment,
Of the angels harp.
Cheering on all good hearts.

Now remember, when you cast your spell,
For the future to tell,
Avoid using harps from beyond the dell.
That's Dante's hell, avoided well.
Use this omen to quench your fire.
Ferment intent, so strong and pure.
Desire'th of a final cure.

No number two to divide and conquer.
One whole is greater than its parts
It's where it ends and where it starts
Creation and its Buona parts.
Guiding lost hearts on its way
Souls so light and free from pain.
The mount top harp plays again.

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