Arenig Fawr Poem by john appleby

Vagrant amongst the peregrine nation.
He is out there...somewhere....betrayed by the
mumbling rituals carried on a blind wind.
Swallowed amongst the fragile towers and peeling walls,
he plays his shadow games.
Pale scars on the high alter drawn by his empty hand.
Grey rocks and sods of earth explode and collect in a
lichen dust storm on the scree slopes below.

Every now and then voices stun the void between us,
half man, half beast stumbling through nature's damned aisle.
A box of crows or is it stone? ruptures the air,
a flash of colour stains the emerald moment and roots us
back to earth.
They are on 'our'route!