A Highlander’s Dream



A Tartan’s Cry

 (  The Thread runs through It  )





A Sound,

The Thunder

of distant Drums,

of Chariots bound for

      Fields of Blind Ambition . . .

So come,  and We shall melt

The Chains of Hate,  and forge

Again The Bell of Freedom,

forge Again A Ring

of Truth,

yes,  to forge Again,

     The Key to The Kingdom of Heaven . . .



 *      *      *



Thistle,  Pipe,  and Drum

 (  of Lovers,  and Sons  )

circa.  1305  A.D.






and,  then,

One Morning,

when,  I see a Tear

in Your Lavender Eyes,

when I listen to Your Voice

embrace The Wind,  sighing,

over The Glen and Meadow,

over The Field and Forest,

crying for All Things,

Dear and Gone,

remembering Still,

      and,  as Always,  You will . . .

when,  as You whisper My Name,

to ignite The Passion of Ten Thousand Angels,

Guardians of Innocence,  All,  I shall lead Them across Heaven,

Chevrons,  of Diamonds,  across A Cyan Sea,  flying,  over the Troubled Waters,

sailing,  over the Burning Land,  to quiet Hell’s Thunder,  and the quake of Distant Drums,  yes,

      to still,  for Ever,  The Chariots,  of War . . .







and,  then,

under The Skies,

of One Fine Morning,

I shall kiss a Tear,  from

Your lavender Eyes,

and dance,

 with Your Voice,

embracing The Wind,  as Silk,  upon My Skin,

as I whisper,   to My Universal Heart,

My Days of Infinity,  are Done,

as I lay beside Your Smile,

a Rose,  just as Lovely,

and,  as I whisper,  at

Long Last,  I shall wander,  NeverMore,

among The Folly of Men,  from

This Moment on,  until

      All Moments fade . . .

Gone,  for Ever,  are The Fists of Iron, 

The Maker,  of Widows,  and

The Rape,  of Souls,  of

Lovers,  and Sons,

Gone,  for Ever,  The Reigns of Desire,

whose Blind Hand,  stoked,

while Death,  stroked,

The Pillars,  of Fire,

Gone,  for Ever,  The Shadows of Fear,

No Screams of Rage,  no

Dreams of Hate,  no

Child shall hear,

Gone,  for Ever,  The Thieves of Promise,

for They,  I pray,  are slaves to

Oblivion,  They,  I pray,

      a Memory,  toDay . . .






where,  or

when,  is This,

a Glorious Morning,

Your Tears,  I shall dry,

 from Your Lavender Eyes,

 to Your Heart,  I whisper,

All quiet The Dawn,

as Our Wings,

as One,

embrace The Wind,

The Night,  for Ever,  is Gone,

      and,  for Ever,  is The Freedom,  of Always . . .





from Book I,  The Ring ( First Light ) The Third DoveTale – The Gates of Dawn




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