Thrice imprisoned I have been
Willingly and boldly keen
Wed to powders golden brown
A task once set to earn my crown
I await the day of liberation
Of capitalist capitulation
My hand to let the penny drop
And meek and poor will loot this shop
In days of olde the druids spoke
Of mistletoe beneath the oak
A golden sickle reaps the bough
Aft’ plenilune beneath the plough
The sword in stone is metaphor
A secret hidden on the moor
Of unhewn dolmen I will sing
To free this once and future king
And when the poets sing the Chûn
And resonate beneath the moon
The son will rise on solstice morn
And divine child will be reborn
I am Mabon, sun of earth
And moon and stars, my cosmic birth
Was long foretold in Celtic ode
A catalyst in cobalt woad
© Chris Bond — 21 August 2000
A poem based primarily on the Song of Amergin, though heavily influenced by The White Goddess by Robert Graves and his assertion that the Divine Child was born on the same day as me, the Day of Liberation. I was genuinely born at the Nether Edge on the Day that is Not a Day. Celtic messianism.