"meis" poems
Through the darkness I part the Veil,
And walk the hidden paths,
In the brightness beyond the pale,
I see what none have seen.
There's danger here in the world beyond,
In the gleam beyond the gloom.
And all my days it waits for me,
The calling in my blood,
And through the years I walk the paths,
That very few have seen,
The Veil grows thin as years go by,
In the gleam beyond the gloom.
Through the darkness I return again,
From those fair hidden paths,
And as I walk I learn to talk,
Like I once knew I could,
For few have been beyond the veil,
In the gleam beyond the gloom.
~In the Gleam Beyond the Gloom by Bethany "Lorekeeper" Davis, March 5, 2015
My attempt at translating it into Latin:
Velum parte post umbram,
Et ambulate per semitae occultae,
In splendóribus supra pallidus,
Non video quid viderim.
Non est hic mundus extra periculum,
In splendóribus post umbram.
Et omnibus diebus meis memet maneat
Vocatio in sanguine meo,
Et per annos ambulate semitae,
Valde pauci, quas vidi,
Velum crescit tenuis quod eunt anni,
In splendóribus post umbram.
Per tenebras revertentur
Ex his latet semitas occultae,
Et ego ambulo illis loquela,
Scientes semel ego potui,
Pauci abierunt trans velum,
In splendóribus post umbram.
And a translation of that Latin from an academic translation site:
And the hanging for the part after the shadow,
And walk by the ways of the hidden God,
In the brightness of beyond the pale,
I do not see what I saw,
He is not here the world is out of danger,
In the brightness after the shadow.
The call waits for me,
In my blood, and all my days,
And I will walk you through the years, the highways,
Very few men, that I have seen,
As the years go by the thin veil of the increases,
In the brightness after the shadow.
From these things it is hidden by the darkness,
They shall come again the paths of the hidden God,
And I, I walk the angels have speech,
Yet knowing that once I was able to,
They went to the other side of the veil of the few,
In the brightness after the shadow.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
Evening chill in cloister,
moon in one corner of the garth,
stars sprinkled like dust,
what you do not see
and believe is faith
Augustine said,
I smelt the evening air,
sharp, chilling,
as I walked the cloister
from the novice room
to my cell Dom Jame's
voice in my ears,
words on plainsong,
Latin language,
study he said until it sticks,
and she had me
between her and within her
as a flower in a vase,
no one heals himself
by wounding another
Ambrose said,
I breathed the air as I stood,
a monk walked past
head down eyes
on the cloister floor,
I fingered the rosary
in the pocket
of my black jeans,
felt the silver plated Christ
with my thumb,
the clock tower
chimed a quarter,
echoed the area,
without love, deeds,
even the most brilliant,
Theresa said, count as nothing,
moon glow, stars as dust,
Dixit Dóminus Dómino meo,
bell tolled from bell tower,
orange bricks, seemly darker,
sede a dextris meis,
hold me she said
I felt her warm skin
against warm skin flower fresh,
arms about my body,
my ship in her harbour,
the French monk
placed flowers
by the Holy Virgin's feet
in the cloister
lit by moon's light,
I walked the stairs to my cell,
one step at a time,
Hugh walked past,
glum as a whore's ***
eyed me as he went,
in my cell the Crucified
is high on the wall,
aged by years,
I sign the sign of the cross,
I am at sea,
like one
in deep ocean's toss.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC