Syfydrin
Up in the hills behind town
there's a place you can go
and if the night is magical
and the group is right
above the roaring wood fire
the infinity of stars is only dimmed
when the full moon rises over the lake,
an ecstacy of scintillations 
beckoning you to worship.

You must swim then.
It is not a choice
but an imperative.

Those beside you understand,
their nakedness as pure as yours
in the dark peaty waters.

It has nothing to do with sex,
or maybe everything.

I would not dare 
to go there alone at such a time,
lest when I return
a hundred years has passed
and I crumble to dust.


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Allan_Marsden
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Synopsis
First Draft 9/9/2012. Llyn Syfydrin is a lake ten miles inland from Aberystwyth where I live.
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