“Brocéliande”

A little while ago, I was on a Discord server, and a handful of us ended up in a discussion about how hard it is to write lyrics. Personally, I love the challenge of writing lyrics because they are one of the hardest things to write, in my opinion. I love doing verbal acrobatics, but finding a passion and feeling and connection requires a level of skill that I wish I exercised more. That’s why it was really fun opportunity to stretch an old, never-well-exercised muscle when we decided to have a little competition amongst ourselves to write a song by the end of the week.

This went pretty much 100% the way I expected it to. At first, I had no idea what to write about. I’m at my best when inspiration strikes, so forcing it is a bit more tricky. Initially, I though I’d write about something personal, like grief, but that all felt either too personal, or too cheesy. Then, I remembered a piano song that my friend had written well over a decade ago, which had a voiceover in French, about Brocéliande, a forest in Bretagne, France, that represents a place from Arthurian legend, where the Vale of No Return hides Merlin (or his body). I’ve visited this forest once in 2009 with said French friend, at sunset after a day at the beach, and it is truly a magical place. I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic lately, so I pulled on some old memories and started playing with that.

But I didn’t want to be boring. I came up with a line that had a little alliteration in it, so I got the idea to just mess around some alliteration. I tried my best to keep some vague sort of rhythm, but ultimately, focused more on linguistic gymnastics, and I was rather amused by what I came up with, so I thought I’d share it here for giggles.

“BROCÉLIANDE”

Tu as pénétré la forêt des légendes

Ashes alive in anguish of age
Their movement halted but spirits ever ablaze
Flowing falls flush as figments fade in fogs
Darting between joys, hearts free of haze

Shadows dissipate between twisted trunks
where winds whisper wishes and willowy walkers weep
The mystique of minutia at every glance
Slow scenes to sift through in soft sylvan sleep

Chorus:
Omnious oppressive oaks offer overtures to oaths
Gnarled and ancient, guardians of the secrets of yore
Brilliant beeches beseech beauty born of beasts
As scattered treasures endlessly adorn its floor
Spirits and senses and mages and myths
Make their home in this forest forevermore

Enchanted elms ease embers of evening
Peeking through the vale of warm rays of sun
Ravaged ruins rest reluctantly 'round raised rows
wrapped in vines hiding critters fae and faun

Beneath the canopy ever-watching from above
Boletes bask under bastions and bridges
With wee ones working beneath the leaves
As raucous ravens review its residents from ridges

C-part:
And from thence the spirits dance 'round every frond of fern
In the place where Merlin's magic sleeps, the Vale of No Return