Outpouring of the Folk Soul
By Redwald OR
The following verse came forth unexpectedly and quickly. It was written down faster than I could mentally process it, but upon reading it back I realise it is about a number of things; my recent consideration of meditation; a song which was written by my good friend Lee J, ‘Lost Between the Lines’; my constant frustration with the social constraints I endure daily but one day hope to see an end to and a desperate desire to encourage others of my folk to tune into their folk-soul and rediscover who they really are.
The mists of time obscure the past, historians cannot agree, but deep inside I can connect without the costly PhD…
I close my eyes, a land of trees, not yet hewn, no chem-trail breeze.
An ancient land, the crashing waves, an ancient folk their steely gaze rests upon a rival tribe, their wild thoughts must be described.
Wild thoughts – they must be right; as clear as day, as black as night. Not for them soft indecision, no mental cage, no psycho-prison. The folk soul ruled! Ignore the books – penned by weak soft-handed crooks, for in those books there’s naught so true as the world staring straight back at you.
Those ancient thoughts confined to past? Only true if they were the last, for are not you and I and he from that stock that once were free?
Our blood is now the books they burned, our inner spirit cannot be turned; destroyed it can and that’s their game – a genius people gone insane.
DNA not ABC, that’s the key to you and me; open your eyes – open? No! Close your eyes and spirit flow. TV off, try meditation, ignore that mindful trepidation; your mind is full but full of what? Lots and lots of not a lot.
Just like libraries, full of ink – nothing there to make you think; your head is full but not your own, an alien king upon the throne, but deep inside cannot be seen, by those without the folk-key gene.
Material world fades away, that ancient time is now today; your inner flame is burning bright, burning through decay and blight.
Hengest, Horsa seem afar, but they are who we really are; Boudica – the rebel queen, eyes tight shut she can be seen, or rather felt inside our soul for spirit is what makes us whole and that is what they really fear, that inner strength won’t disappear.
Burn those books, go on I say! I’ll torch them too without delay. I’ll torch you too if you come near, remember when you ruled through fear? You changed your mode to sleight of hand but New Awakenings stir in my land.
So smile as we close our eyes, continue with your poison lies, but eyes wide shut we see much more, and only we know what’s in store, for some of us will not give in, we have no thought for Christ or sin; we do what’s right and always will – our eyes are open; now! Be still!
