Come, silver moon, alight on troubled clouds,
Gift them thy saintly glow lifting the gloom
Levied below, with flowery haloed buds
Springing forth like the lamb from mother's womb,

Light up anew hedgerows and quilted fields
Where cattle sleep in clusters like faint stars,
Constellations huddled upon the wolds,
Breath nebulous as fogging stale cigars;

Ill omens thrive to drift in darkest times
From cloud to stony cloud above the night,
Watching for victims from high lofted climes,
Raining full pent up fury of their might:

Come, silver moon, gift troubled clouds thy lining,
Hope lives in thee as long as thou art shining!

Whence comes thy ill? Thy brooding bitter pill
Ploughed deep in fertile soil, sprouting to seed
Snake-like tendrils crawling to sprawl and spill,
Choking lush verdant fields with poisoned ****;
Wilted young peaches, withered pears dying,
Irises blinded, red chrysanthemums
Faded to white, strewn petals borne on sighing
Dark fitful clouds rend'ring the landscape numb;
Oh bitter pill, thy loathsome poisoned thrill
Afflicts one tainted by unsated need
To wilt and wither, blinded, faded, ill
Craving for thee with hollowed hateful greed;
    Sweet bitter pill, thou will be coveted
    Till once ripe lush and verdant fields lay dead.

Fair maid, your beauty sleeps on marble stone,
Yet warm spring color drapes upon your breast,
Whose rise and fall like splendoured kingly throne
Would overthrow all doubt you are at rest;
How delicate, how soft each gentle sip
Of morning air delighting of your tongue,
Playfully dancing over your sweet lips,
Flitting away to voice your slumbered song;
How sound you sleep, your tranquil dreams expressed
By chest upheaved in rhythms, gaily dressed.

Far far beyond awaking, do you roam
With kindred spirits through a leafy glade?
Nymphs born of elder days welcome you home
To bathe in springs beneath old forest shade;
They sing of love for when the world was young,
When forests grew unhindered o'er the land,
When each new day was blessed by endless sun,
When fertile earth knew naught of desert sand:
Your voice rejoiced to join their merry cheer,
My ears rejoiced with every song they hear.

Fair maid, I wonder will you e'er return,
Or will the dreaming keep you for its own?
My eyes behold your beauty, yet they yearn
For tho' you are still here, I am alone;
Bid farewell to the forests, to your kin,
Bid farewell to each cool refreshing stream,
Return to wear the beauty of your skin,
Your kin will wait in some forever dream:
But now I pray you'll wake, return to me,
To see the dreams my eyes reflect of thee.

Dim witted pupils born of ignorance,
Long shadows loom to weave thy blinkered veil
Blinding closeted mind to innocence,
Till hope for love nor love for hope prevail;
What sweet delight does darkness serve to keep?
What hidden treasures lurk inside thy door?
Wise Solomon was wise enough to seek
For truth beyond the grains of his own store;
Yet thou embrace the dark, keep it to hand
Lest all thy world may crumble where thee stand.

Look not with shuttered eyes, but yet perceive
For senses fill the void, bring unto thee
A truth for which thine eyes might yet deceive;
Inhale to taste the world thou dare not see,
How fragrant is the fallen petaled rose?
How sweet the apple fading to decay?
Breathe deep as autumn reaps what summer sows,
Let bounteous harvest spirit thee away
To sip perfume, fine fragrance from the vine
That lingers like a sweet bouquet of wine.

Slow shuffled steps, each footfall amplified
Through trepid corners of thy darkened mind,
A conjured dread that cannot be denied
As useless eyes strain urgently to find
Its course; Hark! Tap, tap, tapping at thy door!
Thy breath abates, thy racing heart resounds,
Thy trembling toes cajole thee o'er the floor
And pressing of thy ear, to hear the sounds:
A pillowed voice as light as silken spin
Whispers, "Open the door, I will come in!"

Fear grips thee in a vice, thy voice is lost
As thou were lost, yet now thou has been found:
What stands without?  A madman or a ghost?
What stalks its prey?  What hunts thee like a hound?
Thy eyes are struck by blinding haloed light
Beneath the door, around its weary frame,
As dark recedes away to flee its might,
Abandoned thou must play the hunter's game;
Down through thy quivered spine, cold shivers creep
And kneeling to the ground, thou starts to weep.

Look now upon thy door with eyes reborn,
Thy savior and thy keeper through the night;
Eyes crowned with sight like pillows to a thorn
Harsh punctured with each searing twist of light;
How oft' thy mind has drawn its simple form,
Thy fingers run to feel each knotted grain,
Yet with thine eyes, thou see it now transform,
A handle hidden neat within the frame;
What clever hand, what love of labored skill
Had crafted of a ring so neatly made
That in its recess, fingers found no thrill
To find it in its secret wooded glade;
Yet now that light is gifted to thy sight,
Thy fingers trouble not to raise the ring
And taking hold and firmly gripping tight,
Thou contemplates the actions of a thing:
Does fear of light reduce thee to a shell,
To quake within thy boots, to shake with dread?
Will darkness cloak thee from a living hell
Or bring a living hell into thy head?
Thy hand is poised, have thee the strength to learn?
Thy will be done, to turn or not to turn.

Bare boards and whitewashed walls are canvas made
For palette, born of starlight, born of stars
To paint the night, her shadows and her shade,
Where fingers stretch to reach beyond the bars;
Sad blinking eyes accustomed to the gloom
Reflect on light and life, reflect the night
That fills the mind as darkness fills a room,
That pilfers hope as blindness pilfers sight;
How silent is the bird song on the air?
Their mute lament that revels in despair.

Look East to gaze upon low rolling hills
Awash with midnight blue, a gentle hue
That gleams the more for taken tiny pills;
Look East to see the old, to see anew
Each folded band, each friendly contoured shape
That undulating, sweeps down mountain side
To drape horizon with majestic cape
And paint the world as water paints a void;
How flightless are the birds upon the ground?
Their useless wings that fail to make a sound.

Look down beneath the hills unto the square,
Perfection of a frame within a frame
Where many ears are waved without a care,
Where wheat is grown and reaped and sown again;
Look down upon the cypress border fence
That guards the golden realm within a realm,
Enter that inner world of wild pretense
That threatens to consume and overwhelm;
How woeful are the birds among the wheat?
Their hunger grows and yet they do not eat.

Explore that inner space, that magic place
Where thought is real and real is but a thought,
Where dreams are born to die without a trace,
Explore to see the lies that eyes have bought;
Look down upon the wild and bustling town
That sits beneath the hill, with busy lights
That paint the scene with colors yet unknown
And lift the world to fresh imagined heights;
How distant are the birds that wander here?
Their loneliness relentless with its fear.

Look high above the world into the night
Where palette, born of starlight, born of stars
May tempt a soul to soar in endless flight
Beyond the room, beyond cold iron bars;
Look high to see the bold untainted white
That holds the key to every color born,
Behold her ****** sweet unsullied light,
A Goddess Venus, solemn and forlorn;
How can a man behold one such as thee
Yet be content to live a mortal man?
A soul must learn to fly, yearn to be free,
To reach the stars, to be all that it can!
Yet here for all the yearning, all the dreams,
For all the numbered nights that counted stars,
Long nights awake to wonder what it means
Forever trapped behind these iron bars,
A soul has learned that even artistry
That elevates a man to greatest heights
Can not unbind the chains and misery
Of one condemned to live a mortal life.
*How thoughtless are the birds without a care?
Sometimes I wonder if they're really there.