This night I wake, to musics aloof,
so distant in the wonders of passion,
and so eager, that yet, amused,
I say,
I've found here so little, compassion!

It saddens me when I stare out into, the vastness of our despair
for I find no shelter, in the wilderness here, and I seekth for none out there!
The nights have been generous but sturdy still; ever lonesome, waking, and bare!

Tonight, will be a memoir,
and the lines will read in stone...
The moors shall sing to the whaling,
and the mermaids back to back,
to the worlds of elderly woe,
and the nights so cloaked in black!
the fiddlers shall sing, and choirs resound,
the ruthless words of wedded bounds...
Onto the veiling bow, and great divide,
we dare in this silence, still confide...
to the vow of endless dream!

A.r. Bazian
*2014