The Fall of the De Dannan
The sky is painted red with blood,
The seas churn in crimson woe,
The land of the gods is falling,
There was no way to know
Shattered is the fissured earth,
The marble temples turned to dust,
Centuries of knowledge, destroyed,
Millennia of tomes combust.
The sun has turned black,
The stars streak white as the descend,
The moon hangs idle,
This is the end.
This island is sinking,
The people have played a part,
In the utopias destruction,
By stripping away its heart.
The ones who reside here,
They are not remotely human,
Of divine heritage they come,
But committed of mortal sin.
They used their great powers,
And took the life force from the land,
Killing it from within,
Yet the Fall they will withstand.
They are the De Dannan people,
Called the Shining Folk they did endow,
They were celestial beings,
But they do not shine now.
There home, the island, is sinking,
Empty, withered, and gasping for breath,
This paradise is disappearing,
It is a time of death.
In a single day and night,
Atlantis sunk beneath the black wave,
And destroyed the Tuatha de Dannan,
And took them to their grave.
Author's Note
Those of you who are familiar with the ancient and equally arcane mythology of the Celts, will know the greatest heroes and beings of Old: the Tuatha de Dannan, the Shining Folk; and of their home that disappeared beneath the deapths of the sea: the De Dannan Isle, a.k.a. Atlantis.
This poem reflects the final moments of the De Dannan Isle and its divine inhabitants; of the dark times that ended the greatest age of all . . . the Age of the Tuatha de Dannan . . .
- Shane Lutz