In a silent, green landscape
The fairies flit about,
As the sureties of the mind escape
Into a cloud of doubt.
An unknown world surrounds
The silken valley of the night,
And blinded, the eyes pronounce
The echoes of stories woven by lack of sight.
In the theatre of the brain
Narratives are invented and reinvented-
And one cannot understand or explain
The undying faith in their existence.
In a quiet, dark landscape
The angels disappear
And voices of the devil
Are whispered in your ear.
And those firm ol' disbeliefs
Surface and reappear.
Surrounded by Eireann
The mind whips its own concoctions
Fed to sober-hearted Reason,
Who, drunken with sweet Fiction,
Drifts into another world.
- This was written while reading up on fairies and other folk stories of Ireland, while sitting in the library.