Lost Child: Written in ink of tears and sweet memories.

I came Born knowing I was what I always had been and what I am.

But not understating how the family was not nor could ever be  like me.

Or what the labels were, for those like me lost roots of the Ancient Oak Tree.

At a very young and tender age, I started to show the knowledge of a Sage.

Always trying to fix a thing with my lost powers of an ancient Mage.

Slowly I began to understand that my parents were not of my true clan.

 So with them I shared my vision so childlike ancient and Pagus wild

 Only to find each day my words brought on to me a bitter and new trial.

 Where always I was found guilty and branded not his but the Devil's child.

Almost every day I relearned the crack of leather, the pain and blood running down my back.

Still somehow they loved me in the only ways they could. Mother prayed every day that I would be good.

Sweet Goddess she suffered more then I ever could, a strong back but kind and fragile soul.

Hers way so sweet, so tender not like mine made of the hard wood of old.

I too small to protect her but with tears and cries of a small child's pain.

My Magick long lost and all my efforts nothing but a bane.

Till at last this curse I choose to accept, it was my curse my lesson and my task.

To care for these blind poor souls until to their heaven they go at last..

So with wit and wisdom from the lost and long dead past.

To teach I tried to this my new tribe that into I was cast.

I even closed the Portal in my heart that was my only way to the future or the past.

Put out my psychic sight so among the blind I would no longer be the outcast.

But is hard for a stone in one life time to become a tree.

They were clay stones and of my true path they could never see.

Then In the Fire, Blood and Fear that was the Vietnam, the old ways called back to me.

Now you understand Man Child they said, what you are and what you must yet be.

The roots of Gala's Pagus life as they drank so many young men's blood whispered each night back to me.

You know you are meant to die here fighting against these local people that only want to be free.

But we will not allow that so watch so many others die and then a true Sky Pilot you shall be.

We will sent you back across the great sea. To plant the ancient acorns and regrow our great Tree.

The Druid King

Blessed are the children as they hold the seeds of the future in their small hands.

Copyright 03-15-2012 George King