by John Hagan
At
the ends’ beginning, dreamt I she stood with me,
There
at the forest’s furthest edge, beside the final tree,
As
snowflakes gently fell, white in her dark-brown hair,
I joked
to see her silver-touched, whom centuries would spare.
She
took my hand as we regarded, the snow-fields awesome spread,
As
dipped towards the horizon, the sun in cloaks of red,
And the
shadows of the trees, wrote long words upon the ground,
That
oldest of our alphabets, that not in books is found.
“Make a
wish upon this tree”, she pressed my hand upon its bark,
“The
final one that stands, before the polar arc;
There’s
magic in its wood, nourished by aurora’s rays,
That
sees it through that Winter’s night, that lasts a hundred days.”
For
this sunset red, blue, gold, was the last that would be seen,
Whilst
into depths of space, the North did tilt and lean;
And we
lingered as by twilight, one by one the stars were found,
The
rules of day undone, and its secrets were unbound.
“Taiga,
Taiga, burning bright,
‘Neath
the Aurora, in days of night!”
(I
murmured so in rhyme-
And she
looked at me with that look, that takes me out of time)
Home
through darkling woods we crept - beware the tracks of beasts,
The
forest a vast cathedral, and wolves its hungry priests,
Until
hand in hand we ran, joyful-scared of monster’s tread,
Returning
to our tower, and the warmth of hearth and bed.
Oh,
there’s something to be said, for days of endless night,
When
our only lantern is, the rippling Northern light,
And the
only music needed, is the crackling of the fire,
That
seems to dance in harmony, to the beats of our desire.
Now
shines upon our skin, the fire’s reflected glow,
As outside lunar
light, leaps and shimmers in the snow,
And
nightfall like a cloak, enchants this forest world,
As the
awful, awesome cosmos, above us is unfurled.
I close
my eyes and know, that I have all I need,
And for
the cares of ‘morrow, I will take no heed,
Let the
sun be gone, and banished all its beams,
For
warm beside me lies, the Princess of my dreams.
* * *
At the
end’s beginning, I awoke alone,
Grasping
for a fading world, that fading dreams had shown,
Grimacing as my boots, sealed round my aching feet,
Buckling on my uniform, I rose to blistering heat.
Above the July sky, stretched immaculate blue,
Blinding every single star, from our mortal
view,
In the trench we gathered, as if to spring up from our
graves,
And charge the treeless plain, we cowards and we
braves.
Down
from the Heavens, sunstroke like a mace,
Beat
unremitting, on my pale and fearful face,
And I
thought of my lost love, a girl of the Fay,
And the
garden where we’d danced, on a Midsummer’s Day.
Another
dance we’d promised, when Midwinter came,
But
she’d vanished from my life, and I knew not her name,
No way
back to our garden, here only barbed-wire bloomed,
Flowering
with stinking corpses, the flesh- fruit of the doomed.
Our
Captain did offer me, his last bottle of wine,
A
libation he joked; which I did decline,
I
looked at my brothers, as we readied our arms,
Thinking
of families, our towns and our farms.
The
roar of our cannons, reached its final end,
The
barrage was lifting, all us boys to send,
Now the
whistles were sounding, and there was no more time-
Until I felt on my cheek, a stray flake of rime.
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