His Journey's End

The city howls and claws, shreds his soul,
attacks his Saf-T-Glass windshield.
Furious,
trembling in rage,
jealous of his journey.

The disk slips in.
Harps take wing,
shrouding dash and leather
like thick highland mist.
Sacred rhythms pour into his unlocked soul,
tear through heart and lungs,
rip through veins.
His deep heart’s passion
knows the blood wisdom.
The Music, the Elixir.
Within the steel cloister, his journey begins.
Uilleann pipes draw his spirit
over verdant, ancestral hills
through timeworn castle walls
down ancient druid paths.
His memory kneels within the Faerie Ring.
The city shrinks. Smaller and smaller, he leaves death.
Quickening comes with O’Carolan’s harp.
Cadence of engine and Bodhran fuse
In a canon his soul has known since before he was.
Before his eyes saw light and knew the city.
This pulse---
This elemental---
Is Celtic.
Is Eire.
Is the journey’s end.

E. Strain~1998