Wrap me round in Celtic linen when I go,
to show the fire called the emerald and red
of my poetic pagan heart and burn me through
in ancient embers at the altar of all thought.
Entomb me in Egyptian cotton
for my soul as old as time before Time was
and sound my extant vapour into every sphere
across the universe entire of the Gods
Shroud me in a needle lace of threefold beauty,
earthed among the silken places, bound into
the Mystery by spaces where I found a truth
and graces I have yet to birth
Consume me in the breezes on an open pyre.
Let the blood and dust to dirt and constant part,
into the cosmic ether be subsumed, that in my end
shall I begin again. Next time, a little higher.
Good Samhain 🎃