Wicca
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Wicca
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Wicca & The Ballard of Herne's Son
Our love and thanks go out to all at the Runic times We had the pleasure of reading a copy of the Runic Times sent to us by Bress and Jessica. With the loss of Balefire to our cause it was refreshing to read and I would commend it to all brothers and sisters. The address will be found at the end of the article. Their newsletter is free to all who would read it. There will be four issues for the equinoxes and solstices as well as four issues at each of the Sabbats. Not only is the newsletter interesting it is also practical and it helps us to draw near to those of like mind and thoughts in other lands. Distance is as a thought away and through love, understanding and brother/sisterhood draws us as one to the Goddess. Following is a poem submitted to us for publication by Bress, it is with love and kindred ship we now offer it to you. Blessed Be to all who read and understand.
With permission, and all due acknowledgement given to Bress and Jessica, we would like to add their exceptional Newsletter to the Wicca section of Camaley and help them to network until they have achieved a web site of their own.
We would like to assist you in anyway we are able with love, light.
The Ballad of Herne’s Son
Follow the hoof prints of my forefathers I make the long parlous journey Between the worlds of the forgotten veil Move lightly and freely forward Backward across space and time-wise Of the Ancient One’s slow saga Yet the very quickening of my heart Belonging to their unspoken wisdom In earnest yearning for the truth Which lies inside my frail shell Decomposing in the presence of useless matter Of the New Aeon’s fast plastics That trod steadily over the worldview In an arrow of blinding blissfulness Behind the sacred circle of belief Destroy the nature of natural things Suffocating the psyche of man’s primal instincts Of a universal purity long ago lost I run through life in stag fashion Bleeding from sharp bladed tongues of grass Jumping over drowning rivers of deception Following the path of scorched earth Where the oaks pray to the remembrance Of the hoof prints of my forefathers.
Bress G. Nicneven ‘85
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