To the Daghda

There was a time, my Lord, my King, the stirrer of my loins,
When the world was cloven ruled, and then you came, and later, Lugh
And conquered us; I hated you. But all that changed, the day we two –
Ah well, you know that tale. The thing is all that changed:
When once our bodies met and joined, the past was disarranged.

It’s hard to see you as they do, as others speak of you.
I do not know this King, and yet, there are echoes in the tales they spread
That do ring true of he with whom I choose to share my bed.

They talk of your enormous greed, and how your clothes don’t fit,
Of your cauldron and your club, which split the skulls of men
And freed their souls, or else did knit their bones.

How absurd these stories are, my love, my Lord, the hastener of my breath,
As are the ones of me, as some dark harbinger of death.
(Does one create the thing one sees?) And now I am Goddess of crones
Though still my form shouts out its sex, and all men want me; at my shrine
They find their secret pleasure – ah, but Dagh – you ever did know mine.

On eves like this, ‘neath Danu’s swollen gaze, my mind turns back towards our days
And nights of passion, Ah, the fights we had! Our lust ran high;
Our bed was earth and sky, and fire ran through our veins, as still
It does ‘neath my black Eye. Men like to think it’s youth that gives the thrill
Which clothes true power. Ah, Dagh, “These men are fools!” I hear you cry.
And they call you uncouth! But fools choose simple lies o’er complex truth.

They do not know you as I do, my Lord, my lover, and my friend. And those who spy
You now might well say there’s less to you than meets the eye.
But how those poets loved to match your stature to your shadow, cast
At dawn. And yes, your cloaks were oft bedraggled and forlorn,
But what of that? The man within was lusty, and of vast
Appetite (they got that right) for living, and greed to try
To find the truth; to make amends, where due, but over all
To never be in thrall to anyone, and to be true to friends.

They make of me a monster, and of you a figure of fun.
They talk as though our times are past, as though our day is done.
But while there is still pain and strife, and while there is a lust for life –
Then e’er so long I am your wife,
Your other half

The Morrigan