The Mystic Rose

The moon, rose up, up, high and full
raised it's arms up to the midnight sky,
breathed a sigh into the wind,
caressed the stars and in the ebony of night
began to spin moon beams into silvery blue ribbons of light.
Turning pale blue, the Moon, shed its former hue,
spilled its glow into the four winds and whispered,
she comes, she comes,
The Rose.

Moonlight danced down upon the
Lake called Innocence.
Sanctified. Purified.

Mirroring the Moon's Enchantment.

It waited.

Spells are cast beneath such a moon as this.
Magic's afoot and wonderment has kissed the very air.

Listen! Hear!
Now, the Mystic and her tune.
Music rising, aloft, afloat
notes of harmony,
ringing through the air.
Drifting back down,
raining along her crown,
to find their birth Mother,
in her singing throat.
Softly spilling her melody,
drenched in reverie,
covering all who hear
her Song of Eternal Peace.

Yes, Her gentle breathe is heard,
echoes through the wind,
calls to me,
and so it begins....

"I am here!"

The Mystic Rose,
She's somewhere there beyond me,
ethereal in flight,
ever graceful,
yet, surefooted,
earth centered
but,
quicksilver, shimmering,
all a quiver, a sliver dashing,
within the blue moonlight.
A flutter in the trees,
a brief stirring among the leaves,
momentary and she's gone.
"Like the stars we've wished upon"
and the dreams we've not forgotten
but have forsaken with the dawn.

Visions are her Aurora.

Into a Hooded cloak of onyx black
she brushes back her golden locks of hair.
See.

It is her crown, now, enfolded there.
Ties the knot about her throat
into a long and flowing bow
running down, its length,
brushes along the ground.
This cloak was sewn on a Solstice Eve
by the elves and faeries most believe.

White roses stitched round its crown,
then down its length,
its hem and sleeve,
drenched in pixie dust and dew,
golden threads, beliefs embroidered through, into.
Wonder woven, into dreams
magic stitched in all its seams.
Adorns and covets, her spirit free,
she's been dressed by the Faeries
in the warmth of their lore, their love,
their faerie breathe
and they believe in she.
They see what I see.
They Adore thee.
Fly.

She's Somewhere in the distance,
just seconds, mere footsteps ahead of me.

Beckoning with her candle or her lantern
she turns to look and see
and in that gaze the words unspoken,
heard and felt
"come forth and follow me.

For I will show you wonders,
that fill your soul with light and thunder,
awe and majesty.
I will reach you, teach you,
of The Source, Nature, Life, Humanity."

And She's gone.

She's somewhere in the mists,
listening to the owl hooting in the tree,
Asking who you are and what you want to be?

What and where is destiny
As the raven in the moonlight flies
in the midnight, velvet sky?

Why must I follow her?

It is just so, a quest, a truth I cannot deny.

Walking on she wanders,
roaming these un chartered paths
like stars up in the heavens
steeped in legends and their mythologies,
myths and mystery,
ancient times and history.
Barely heard breathing she walks among the leaves,
awaiting morning songbirds,
and its sunlight
with it's cooing doves, its soaring eagles
or the yearning sparrow broken winged
and down upon it's knees.

Hours yet, she travels on
the journey yet, begun.

Dawn breaks, Sun rise.
She kneels to kiss the flowers,
mend the sparrow's broken wing,
it rises, now, aloft.
Prayers are made of times like these,
whispered, carried in the breeze.
Breathed up into the waiting air,
spirits bound, of one they share.
Rushing up the mountainside,
round the river's bed,
tethered, unified.

Roses strewn along her path,
Waves of fragrances engulfing me!
My soul is drenched in certainty,
blankets of sweet peace,
souls in harmony.

And still I can see her "Thy Mystic Rose"
still journeys through the forests dark and deep,
out into the clearings down into valleys
and up, up the the mountains steep.
And as I find her still before me,
NOW,
and looking down.
She stops and turns around.
I see, as not before, in those eyes so deep and full
the knowledge she has kept written
on the pages of her mind,
entwined in her every breath,
secrets of life profundities,
like snow capped heights cast about,
but yet, of deeper depths.

You are The Lady in the Mists,
My mystic friend!
Thy Mystic Rose, teaching me,
giving me guidance without books,
volumes written within looks.
It is your soul which is my guide
revealed and sanctified.
A candle in the ebony, chilly, sky calling me
though as yet, I know not where
the path may led.
I just know it is the way,
to that place I have sought these many years,
through both enchantment and anguished tears.
I raise my lantern too
and join her at the precipice.
We two druids walking on into the unknown,
to find, to define
the Mysteries from the Myths,
The Legends from the Truths.
We are two spirits,
adrift,walking
into Antiquity, the Mists of Amethyst
going Home...
Home.

January 29, 2000

By Lady LaMythica
Linda A. Copp

Dedicated to Katie "The Mystic Rose"
made up of every sweet fragrance in the garden of life and wrapped up in ribbons and rainbows...You are dear to me, a treasure, my spiritual sister.

The beautiful Melody on this page is "Legend" by John Engelmann

Click on John's name above to hear more of his compositions.