The Hill of Tara

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Saint Patrick

stands a lonely

man at the seat

of kings.

In the rookery

there is boasting.

Dragons, they say,

dwell from whence

the snakes departed.

Hallowed ground

and hollow ground.

Blood spilled and seeped

time and time repeat

into land now fertile

with memories.

By the feis and legends

they fed themselves.

Though coins failed to serve

as covenants.

Still a standing stone

longs to roar.

But, man in his ignorance

fences himself off

from destiny and takes

his own soul hostage.

Where rites were given,

rights are to be lost

in the savage practice

of domesticity.

Listen up!

Never confuse a road

with the path.

Call out the ancestors

of generations to come.

And, gather at the

faery tree.

She’s not so far afield

The Battle of Tara

wages thrice.

Draw forth your hearts.

(c) 2003-2010/Jamie K. Reaser

The Hill of Tara, like many sacred sites around the world,

is currently threatened by modern "progress." To read more: