Post by AquarianM on Sep 20, 2008 at 1:47am
A Consecrated Magical Tool…
She’s a high priestess from California,
Working magic amidst the sunbeams,
Playing her harp in mystical fashion,
She’ll raise your hopes and open your consciousness,
A darling voice playing under pagan trees joyfully,
Whispering spells of love and success so gently.
She speaks of her harp by its given name,
Enchanted trance-fingers dance the strings by candle light,
When the moon is silver she’ll croon her highest power,
And take your soul on a distant flight,
Breathless and wondering,
Wood and strings she claims are a consecrated magical tool,
Just as any musician would know and say,
Upon recovering breath from when they play.
I know the feeling in my own space,
Bello glints yellow brass about the place,
I seek the notes where the magic lies,
The one that make my hackles happily rise,
For in music there’s such simple joy,
To uplift the spirit we all play to employ.
You can’t play a song to cast a curse,
Because if you try nasty noise will burst,
Over every ear about the place,
Such blasphemy flies back in your face.
You know you know this – it’s a simple spell,
When you play your favorite songs space and time are a deeper well,
Transported away by the treasures of many,
Instruments are a sacred gift,
Come God or gods entrusted to few,
All consecrated magical tools.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/20/2008
*Note: to find the inspiration for this piece, search “Regan High Priestess” and read the latest blog entry on her site.*
She’s a high priestess from California,
Working magic amidst the sunbeams,
Playing her harp in mystical fashion,
She’ll raise your hopes and open your consciousness,
A darling voice playing under pagan trees joyfully,
Whispering spells of love and success so gently.
She speaks of her harp by its given name,
Enchanted trance-fingers dance the strings by candle light,
When the moon is silver she’ll croon her highest power,
And take your soul on a distant flight,
Breathless and wondering,
Wood and strings she claims are a consecrated magical tool,
Just as any musician would know and say,
Upon recovering breath from when they play.
I know the feeling in my own space,
Bello glints yellow brass about the place,
I seek the notes where the magic lies,
The one that make my hackles happily rise,
For in music there’s such simple joy,
To uplift the spirit we all play to employ.
You can’t play a song to cast a curse,
Because if you try nasty noise will burst,
Over every ear about the place,
Such blasphemy flies back in your face.
You know you know this – it’s a simple spell,
When you play your favorite songs space and time are a deeper well,
Transported away by the treasures of many,
Instruments are a sacred gift,
Come God or gods entrusted to few,
All consecrated magical tools.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 09/20/2008
*Note: to find the inspiration for this piece, search “Regan High Priestess” and read the latest blog entry on her site.*