That Within Itself Standing

Eight-cornered elongated;
Not the square
Five-pointed, base
Not the pentacle
But you have a shape that
Keeps changing
Outward appears undefined

Smooth-rounded orb;
Not the boulder
Circle of gold;
Not the cauldron

It is the journey;
Not the Grail
It's the inspiration;
Not the liquid inside

Who is that man on the hill
Rattling rattles
What makes the noise in the trees
His dismembered limbs sing

Oh let the dismantler
In maddness descend
Into the mountain
'Away from the party'
Drumming and dancing
Railling and thrashing.

There is no stain on his person
When, returning from Hel we receive
And there is no shame in accepting
What he in his madness reveals

There on the high hill of stones
Stones in a circle, but mark!
One that always stands older and ancient and unhewn
One that stands away and apart