comes across the hill

a bluebird singing
the red ribbon in her hair

in the pale moonlight
hold me

softly In the pale moonlight
                                                       ­ 
sweet summer breeze
a fire in her heart

gentle summer breeze
and the ribbon comes undone

there is a love
that waits  in pale moonlight

Dogma or ridicule.
A flyer on rocket fuel
It moves without sound
Hallucination earthbound

A month in all its glory
A garden running wild
The purity in the colours
The imagination of the child
A heavy scent of flowers
that lingers in July
When words set out to caress an ear
When the days turn out so dry

A backwards glance into infinity,
where remnants of memory fill the pages;
Of nightly whistling from trains at the station,
worn and tired yet oddly engaging.

Time seems to move on so slowly,
rearranged but distinct and intense;
We turn over in our bedtime ritual,
as each witching hour eerily descends.

Long ago we could hear in a whisper,
that fearless wraiths send us nightly stories;
And dawn brings us sleepless sunshine,
casting its beams searching for eternity.

Somewhere in the night we closed our eyes,
while spirits provoked by myths and legends;
Were sainted souls projecting cosmic signs,
which swirled 'round about toward the heavens.

Ethereal notions then crossed into darkness,
where nothing can be easily explained;
But in the night our whispers still linger,
along with the screeching of infinity's trains.