I look not on the stars in wonder but the space they’ve torn asunder for there is peace where no star sings in the darkness everlasting, Let them shine and pulse and burn have them glow in every turn yet in the black infinity is where my dreams are meant to be.
between Byron and Shelley’s words in an antique Treasury a sacred verse unto itself blessing this anthology is pressed a blade of heather flower such is nature’s mystery that as I part these precious leaves it reveals more than poetry.
we walked along the banks of the green river’s flow on the cusp of dusk’s lazy dappled glow highlighting her face in the shadows of pines as the summertime submitted to autumn’s first temptation and in its arms reclined.
the final spring is come my friend and with its breath a winter’s end more so than my eye’s last light which will be cast no more on night nor to a cold December’s morn but instead awake to shimmered dawns that finds within its golden haze new memories lost to future days.
through avenues of lindens green verdant sunlit temple scenes scattered shadows, dappled light twixt bright midday and black midnite we two travellers northward bound alone up country where we found the way we sought away from death and melodies that in faint breaths we sang together chasing notes that flew above in feathered throats ballads pure which knew no woe and signalled on where we should go that our quest for summer’s rest a million dawns, ever west.
I dreamt upon a land of stone
where the old gods lived and died
lifeless save one god alone
who wept under its sulphur skies
ragged now and without the breath
that man’s praise kindled within
his power from ages gone bereft
now worship long denied to him
for all gods whether old or young
gain their held divinity
not from believed truths oft sung
but stole from men’s own vanity.