The Madness of the Priest at Astan D’or

by Neil Shelley

Meet me in the glade,

where we drowned the baptized,

and burned the trees,

into pointing fingers of ash.

Find me in the valley of bones;

follow the trail of broken hearts.

For I have wounds,

that will not heal.

And my blood stains

the ground under my feet.

But you can make me

whole with your love.

At night I weep for you,

as the babe under the sacrificial knife.

It is only at the coming of dawn

that I remember where you are.

The river turns red around me

as I search for your pure heart.

Even now, as always, you elude me;

I cry in frustration.

I return to the knife so that in time

your pale body will float among

the innocent dead, reflecting on

when

you will

be

mine.