That year you sent on Christmas day
A card as full as Santa's sleigh
Of words array'd
With thoughts so gay
They'll fill my dreams and shine alway.
So fair a gift can mountains sway
For it means you cared to say,
We like your smile, so smile away!"
Any price a soul would pay
For one kind word, a friendly wave,
But there's no price
On things so nice
Repay I can't except your way.
Able was I ere I saw Elba.
I saw you in dreams
In the setting sun,
By glistening streams
In the billowing breeze
All smiles and fun.
There before me I saw Elba.
As the waters flow'd
And the oceans swell'd
In a dark ship's hold
I awaited you
Rocking my dreams to bed
Night and day I saw Elba,
Saw nought but your burning sands
I tried to see through to your heart
Yet I had but your face in my hands.
Able was I before Elba
Till I'd chosen this way.
I never knew what I wanted
To this day
I knew not who I awaited
in my dreams,
Who it was that frolick'd
in those streams.
When I was thrown upon Elba
I only knew
I wanted a ladder to heaven
or wings that flew.
Yet your beauty I turned to see
Leaving all behind,
Leaving faith and goodness both
For your eyes could blind.
But I never saw you then
even in my dreams
I sought you by the rushes (then)
Hoping you would scream.
Whene'er I passed an island
I always paused to see
If behind that mask and veil
Elba beckon'd me.
Often have I wonder'd,
But never light of day
Into Elba's forest
Could ever cut its way.
O take me home
Where the clouds hang low
O'er hills and vales
man never furrow'd
Where the boundless green
neither ax'd nor plough'd
Cloaks the land around
Spills from ev'ry bough
O let me breathe
The healthy mountain air
Whose fingers toss in clouds
My warm black hair
And kiss the fragrance
The virgin meadows share
When dewdrops cold
And op'ning flow'rs they wear.
O let me sleep
'neath the stars so bright
That bathe the heav'ns
in their tender light
While all around
I see the flight
In my dreams all night
O let me walk
By the streams that flow
Down the hills, cold and proud,
Majestic and slow,
Behold them glide
Over rocks all aglow
In the purpling mist
'neath the o'erhanging bow.
O let me drink
At the mountain spring
That laughs 'n quivers
When the church bells ring
Here let me rest
My weary mind and limbs
Above the trees
And hear His voices sing.
Not a tear will I shed
For this wet grassy bed
For this grass for these flowers
That cradle my head
It'll soon be a dream
Through which I've sped
This dream will I seek
In the land of the dead.
Heaven's so far, O so far, far away
Those were the words your tears seem'd to say
Glittering golden in bright shining lights
Through the darkness of the chandelier'd night.
I still see your sparkling black-blue gown
Shaded by cascading tresses of down
As soft music played to your moistened lips
And a dream died away like a will-o-the-wisp.
Delicate stars shining far, far above
Sweeping to earth on the curve of your brow
Spill in the ocean of deepest blue eyes
Shimmering, twinkling like crystals of ice.
I can see before me a dark, windy night
Your shivering feet so tender and light
The precious words then filling your eyes
That you kept from my own as if that were your right.
Heav'n was so far, oh so far, far away
Full many days all my dreams show'd me stay
Alone on the Quay of the now lonely town
Alone in the Garden of Eden to drown.
Could ever a thief be as cruel as this
To make off with all that one ever call'd bliss
While over above twinkl'd all heaven's stars
And the lingering breeze spoke of pretty red flowers.
The warmth of a home seems so far, far away
Never again will a hearth feel so gay
As it did on that snowy bleak winter night
When I held a fair hand in the flickering light.
It never did matter how many walk'd round
They had their beer and we dar'd make no sound
I never did guess what you'd soon have to say
All I read in your eyes was the message of May.
Heav'n was so far, O so far, far away
When I learnt that the picture would soon fade away
With never a sigh or a wave of the hand
You left for a prize far across desert sands.
I hop'd to see tears wet your cheeks so white
Precious drops to which I've no right
I will not be left here in Eden behind
When I've been torn and cast from your mind.
This morning joy I want to share
With all the world so full of care
From God in heav'n it comes I know
To all his children down below.
It was a feeling very new
That made me sit and think of you,
and of the Lord who loves me so
Who shelters all who live below.
The slanting rays of golden hue
That seep into my room anew
The sounds of water swirling slow
He gave to all of us below.
The thin white clouds, the flocks of birds
The dewdrops cool and whisper'd words
All the laughter the rising sun
He meant for all his little ones.
A little boy will soon go past
And on each porch a paper cast
When he smiles and speaks so shrill
You know the father loves you still.
There's the milkmaid walking down
The gentle kind who ne'er can frown
When you see that face so brown
You know for sure he loves this town.
Ev'ry morning may the dawn
Fill with flowers ev'ry lawn
So that the children strolling by
May know the love of God on high.
See the jacarandas blooming
Say the Summer's fast approaching
See the blue flow'rs on the ground
But I won't be 'round.
See the feeble flowers pending
From the branches strong, unbending
Purple carpets all around
But I won't be 'round.
See the heav'nly crosses shining
In my dreams a choir's singing
Hear the chapel organ sound
But I won't be 'round.
See the good ol' banner waving
O'er the tower now echoing
Rev'rent voices newly found
But I won't be 'round.
Hear the long-drawn chime announcing
Dinner, solemn thoughts arousing
Stand to toast the past unwound
But I won't be 'round.
See the shadows slowly creeping
'cross the hall its candles flaring
With its boards yet keeping count
Of the boys who paid their pound.
A fairy land, a never, never world
Dew drops of honey, on petals curl'd
Painted in purple like the evening flown
And giggly mists all frozen in stone.
Laden trees, full of pearly fruit
On swaying branches, touching the roots
Cover'd in velvet by the flowing brook
And eddying drops with a golden look
Delicious peace, a cool, cool night
The sounds of silence, the lovely sight
Of a faint crescent adorning the sky
A fading whisper, drooping to die
The morning warmth, the chilly, rosy glow
The waking chirps, spilling below
The lifting vapours and fair tender light
Filtering through the fingers of Night
The friendly sprites, the naughty, fancy dreams
Now come to life, and fill the streams
With our own faces, and twirling little waves
Spreading like lace, over cloudy trays
Far, far away, the huts of men
Fade into view, and kill the glen
They rise from; discordance bring
To all the world though laughter ring
For they laugh, their merry, hearty laugh
At the pain others feel
They drink to health in fiery, flaming ways
Then begin to count the other's days.
Give 'em all, the pretty shiny things
The rocks throw up, for which they kill
Give 'em plenty, they'll strive and seek for want
Feeding the fire wood makes it rage and taunt.
Ha! Amazing thought! Pandora's land
Where bread grows fast on trees at hand
Alack the place! Joy they'd none.
For there sat man in the setting sun.
Early in the morning
They heard his plaintive voice
Ringing through the side-streets
of the silent town
He sounded almost wailing
Strange, bereft of choice
Off'ring to pull wild weeds
and clear the earthy down.
He tarried at their old gate
His hoe manfully borne
And call'd to them a second time
Like a pup forlorn.
"May I weed the way?" he asked,
his voice with hope mellow'd
"I'll do it for a measly sum."
Yet no one went below.
"Sister! Do allow me,
I'm hungry and cold
I earn at times a penny,
A hoeing by the road."
A voice was heard in answer
The window curtains through
"How much must I offer
And will you labour true?"
"Believe me, he pleaded,"
And raised his shining eyes
"I ask no more than needed
Why must I tell you lies?
Without the work I hunger
And sister and my mom
It's for their bread I labour
It's I who feed the home."
The curtain's drawn, no answer
Descends to comfort him
He draws the latch and enters
And stoops to pick the thing.
He walks up to the doorway
And pleads with hopeless face,
"I may be small but always
have done the work of men."
"O let me once my sister
Show you how I'll do
Anything you whisper
Quick as thought for you."
She's come down to the doorway
She hesitates to tell
Her children are still sleeping
He mustn't plead or yell.
"Go," she says, "begone boy,
I need no help from you"
"Alas!" comes the answer
"Please have mercy, do."
Now the lady wavers
She must begin her chores
And his voice brings jitters
As he stands at her door.
"You had the nerve to enter,"
she screams, her eyes distraught,
"And must I hear your banter?"
her voice with distress fraught.
"Alas," he pleads, "I never
Meant to pain your heart
Here's the morning paper
Just take it to your hearth."
With that he left and never
Came that way again
The morning lost forever
His charming, gentle strain.
Oh for a song from far away,
Speaking of waves and the snowy spray,
The soft, pleasant sounds,
The opening wounds,
The floating sensations of a fair, new, day.
The call of a bird, the diving whale,
The wettest of shimmers as voices pale,
The flying fish,
The forgotten wish,
The twisting streets in a Summer gale.
The billowing sails their haste betray,
Tugging a bark upon its way.
The drop in the sea,
The life that could be,
Far from the shores of a land cold and grey.
Undulations in a spreading tone,
Now you feel forlorn and alone.
A Chinese feel,
To a muted peal,
A peep and a wail and forever gone.
A Venetian Summer amidst the strings
Of a cold, deep lyre that flouts its springs
Of alluring crystal,
And cold, winter petals,
Join in the dance in the fairies' rings.
A captivating opening eye.
A haunting melody makes you sigh.
The cadence shudders,
The glass balls drop,
Another fire burns on high.
The teasing men at the open bars,
The blushing faces and op'ning flow'rs.
The ending songs,
The forgiven wrongs,
Smoke in the gun of a million stars.
The Sicilian song of a fall of tears
Surrounding long-lost never-found dears,
Wells up from the deep showy vales,
Bathing the honour, hiding its smears.
A bleeding hand on the bouncing keys,
Plays a piece that knows no peace.
A restless heart,
Sold in the mart,
Fails to find the deep, blue seas.
There's no end to such as these,
Where they begin, there they cease,
In a circle,
Dark and purple,
Drinking life down to the lees.
Death in the village on a palm-woven cot,
In an old, little room, perspiring and hot,
The wide-open doors as the people pass by,
Warm Summer breeze and the kid's little cry.
Clothes in the wardrobe, here, the fourth wall,
An old woman grieving alone in the hall,
Thin and wither'd, hungry and tir'd,
Staring and haggard, in her own thoughts mir'd.
Stunn'd-looking men keeping watch at the door,
Old and young gather, o'er him to pore,
Wailing and weeping come from within,
The movements stop, hot decay sets in.
Out of the desert, new faces appear.
Long-lost relations shedding tears,
Before the old lady bent with care,
Enemies're forgotten ... all sigh, repair.
The coffin's kept open outside the door.
Joss sticks a burning, flowers galore,
Scores of strange women stand, sit or weep,
The men linger, wander, kids hide and peep.
Visitors come, stand by the dam,
A camera whirrs, then silence reigns,
The Father now enters, bearded, white, crude,
Some join in prayers, some sway, some brood.
The coffin is taken by twenty strong men
Off to the church, over the glen,
Then to the graveyard through ancient groves,
Beneath the palms and branches low,
crowd past a lake, wade through pools,
Tread up again on a thin, winding road
All mud and ruts, and beetles and sores.
There lies the grave, yawning and bor'd.
The prayers are over. Two men get in
To help lower the clos'd coffin.
Somebody walks up with bags full of flow'rs.
Handfuls are pour'd in in brilliant show'rs,
As all gather'd are ask'd to leave,
The old are escorted away from the scene.
A few remain, his kith and kin.
They watch till the earth has swallow'd him.
Death in the village, not a single old vest,
No solemnity as befits sunset.
Life in its real with its dirt, pain and loss
Goes in a whirl 'round the colour and joss.
The crowding old men, no stately sight.
Ev'ry sound to dignity a blight.
But everything in death as in life,
Death liv'd in full on the point of a knife.
Blue curves, wriggles,
Slender twists and struggles,
faint and shining,
quick and climbing, crawling, flying,
up into the quivering sky.
Blue flames flashing,
Silver stripes washing,
into the world
of curl'd, yellow, mellow,
streaks of brilliant fire.
Set in pearl and gold leaf,
Against a black-glu'd sheaf
of sky backgrounds,
sprinkl'd with spicy red, dread
flowing down the highway river.
Silent procession mourning,
Of the brilliant living.
Money's their lives.
When they die, in a ditch of kitsch,
Another succumbs to their lucre.
Red lights against pitch black,
Dark as eternity's back,
They go on driving, looking not perceiving,
Not heeding the warning.
So full of wildest pleasure,
Wallowing in stolen treasure,
Insensitive to the fine, sublime,
Incapable of feeling.
Forc'd to compromise,
To think otherwise
being a sin
Never mention'd, pardon'd, committed,
In the kingdom of wealth.
Art is dead, finds scarce a grave
Where it could find none so deprav'd
As would suffer or let suffer
In a prosperous world, curl'd, yellow,
that knows no sorrow.
Can't write a poem, write a poet!
Say the style is bad. It's his style.
Were he to be
What you think he could, would, should,
He'd be another, not he.
Try to take it all away,
A poem from its poet,
A man from his (own) self,
A baby from its moma, pa, ma,
Try, it's all you can do, anyway.
No right to life, whose life?
Lock it up, force feed it (food)
Order it remain
Call them all mad who believe
He is, where none can keep from going.
It started the same way, with fire and sticks and stones.
The language was in danger, they said, o'er broken bones,
And broken dreams in tatters, and hearts with hope forlorn,
But they had weighty matters that couldn't wait till morn.
On the streets and highways, they painted o'er the signs.
If roads spoke a language, it would be theirs this time.
They turn'd to shops and theaters. They tore down all the boards,
Those names would sound much sweeter if written in their codes.
Then it had to happen. The buses had it wrong.
They got to name your places. You just danc'd along.
As if those lifeless numbers could do them any harm,
But never mind the tourists, It's got lengthy arms.
It mov'd to the office, crept in, cold and slow,
The alien typewriter surely had to go.
They said it was not needed. It never typ'd their way,
At least not in the language that alone holds sway.
It finally invaded the last of reason's forts
Hard and long defended against the blinding force.
All those sacred places would now speak as they chose,
And all the holy virgins to them alone expose.
I struggle to remember the old, untainted days, (when)
This seem'd a place of refuge to men of ev'ry race.
All the flow'rs are wither'd, gone, the buds are white and weak.
I feel It gnawing at my bones. I know I now must leave.
Entering a world of joy in my grandfather's arms,
Was there e'er a safer nest so full of charms ?
The first thing I remember, a beaming, friendly face,
And pow'rful hands, big and strong, cradling me with grace.
He always ador'd me, they said, when I was grown,
As tall as he, a fact I'd strangely always known,
Flying to the ceiling, in his arms - grandpa's own,
A tiny ball toss'd in the hall, watch'd o'er by eyes that shone.
Waiting by the window for the familiar tread,
On the narrow mountain path, a whitesy, curly thread,
To see his face all shining, perspiring and hot,
Dash down the hill, red, screaming, to my own, dear grampa's heart.
By the tumbling river, high i' th' cosy hills,
Carrying his walking stick, feeling very thrill'd,
On his table, 'midst the dinner, seated by his head,
Plying a towel with all my strength, "Good boy," my grandpa said.
Walking to the station, lugging the massive torch,
Running 'round majestic firs that reach to heav'ns porch,
Traipsing down the rope bridge, worm-worn and full of holes,
Nothing need you ever fear, grampa'll save your soul.
When you want a little duck, want to see it swim,
Grampa floods the bath-room and puts a duckling in.
The water's just too shallow. Duck only finds its feet.
Yet what does it matter, when everything's so sweet ?
They bring the huge beer bottles, open 'em at dinner time,
I'd get to use my own li'l cup and go to sleep at nine.
All the Christmas season, carollers are trooping in.
And Santa comes, and pastors, and grampa's always in.
The heavy, teak almirah, the easy chair so huge,
All those things mysterious that were my own refuge,
When someone us'd a ruler, when something spilt or broke,
For grandpa's feel about them could comfort, soothe, bring hope.
Awaiting pearly hailstones, longing for the moon,
Asking for the glow-worms and the silver spoon,
I found 'em all i' th' mountains where my grandpa liv'd,
Found 'em in his hearty hug, in ev'rything he did.
The smallness of the morning
impresses itself upon your spirits,
waning with the growing light.
Awake, you remain,
in a land of dreamy shadows,
Merging into the background
You wrap as a cloak around yourself
To hide that which is lewd,
shameful, ugly, sinful,
Your nakedness, your spirit, you.
Hoping they wouldn't notice, approach,
look, smile, in this light, at you.
They of the rais'd spirits,
Pretty clothes, fair feathers,
Winning smiles, smooth faces,
glistening skins, fragrant bodies,
Standing close enough to touch,
In another world.
You hope they wouldn't notice
Your bended back, sweaty neck,
Creas'd forehead, ruffl'd hair,
Or your thousand sorrows and fears.
You blanche unseen,
Bathing in a river of your own passion
They can never approach,
Hide your nakedness in the
soft weeds on the banks
Amidst painful, stabbing thoughts
Of all that you lack,
Pull the hood lower.
Wish the graves would open
To swallow you with Grace.
Remember being held by the ankle
in a snaky river,
Saved from black death
By a hand drawing you back,
wet, slimy, sham'd.
Remember your lying on the rock,
Your clothes drying, your soul soggy,
Eyes looking up, not wanting
to see those around you.
Drawing and weaving black
shadows into a cloak
You remember her face,
Your excitement, her disdain.
She knows your cloak of fear,
Knows you fear to love,
fear to kiss, fear to hug,
fear to do what your body
screams for, fear to sin.
You know you will not be seen
by your own father and mother
with a girl, hand in hand.
You know you cannot speak
under their glaring eyes,
What you want to be,
What life invites you to.
You cannot sin in their eyes
Even through innocent moves.
Helpless to helplessness,
No thing or will
To call your own,
No moment when you can
And not have to explain
Where you were, what you did,
Whom you met.
She knew your helplessness,
So you hide in your strength,
Display it in full,
Show the world your morals,
And slowly fool
Your life out of its shadows,
Out of its own domain,
Get it all entangl'd,
Entrapp'd and staid,
Beat it, choke it, starve it,
Till its struggles fade.
And nothing's left to speak of,
And the spirit's still.
None will e'er behold
Your skin and spill,
Into raptures of amazement
At the naked you,
The light in darkness
That grew for itself,
Of its own volition,
In its own soil,
The way it wanted,
To become itself,
He really us'd to love the strings his fingers flew along,
Gliding down with slicing wings, coaxing out a song.
He gave them years, tormented, dissatisfied and hot,
He strung on them his dreams and hopes, attainable or not.
As a lonely, worried boy, he'd found his truest friends,
Found in them the purest joy, and learnt their moods and bents.
He us'd to seek beauty in all its myriad forms.
Reserve for it his bounty, despite the fiercest storms.
As they bloom'd, the Summer winds scorch'd the fair, white lilies,
And the brooks that shimmer'd, gleam'd, dried up in their valleys.
High above amidst the hills, home of joy and love,
Sweet abode of rain and hail, was drown'd a soft, white dove.
As he soar'd, his music drew to him a thousand eyes.
People heard his name afar...fame exacts a price.
He had to take the praises, and well-meaning pats
(Though) he felt bound in traces whenever they said "Congrats."
But he was a growing boy, (he) took it in his stride,
Us'd it all to quench his thirst, and never hurt his pride.
And he spread his petals, open'd to the sun,
Took in all the warmth near where the crystal waters run.
When he grew still older doting on his strings,
(He) look'd into the mirror, saw his pretty wings,
Saw his brilliant feathers amazing to behold,
Heard again their praises, thought his wine was old.
They came to him in thousands driven by an urge
To listen to the fairest, and sing his final dirge.
Men look at the rising Sun (with) admiring, staring eyes,
Knowing it quite soon must set, in their hearts of ice.
Looking at the mountain, majestic and strong,
They breathe a sigh, but know inside, they'll climb it before long.
So, they bow to rivers, venerate the seas,
Write stories about fauna, tout the busy bees.
Thus the horrid day arriv'd, he sought in vain a song.
His flow'ring fields were burnt and dry, he'd stay'd away too long,
Travelling through distant lands, giving folks their fill,
Living on those eager eyes, till all his wine had spilt.
Now he could not face his hands, nor his betray'd strings.
He'd forc'd his skills to stoop and crawl, become another's drinks.
He'd lost his Will, his very heart and soul to others' words,
Liv'd to make them smile and nod, until he'd felt life's swords.
When he couldn't sing or play, when his friends were gone,
When he stood alone one day, distress'd and forlorn,
He knew the world was bad and hard, that it wouldn't stay,
At his side on every road, on every thorny way.
As the weeks turn'd into years, and he learnt and pray'd,
He thought he saw far o'er the clouds, a silver lined shade.
Man grasps at the shadows when all substance fails,
And there he finds the deepest truths, the only holy grails.
He went into his chamber, plied the long, soft strings,
Shut his mind to other thoughts, till he heard the wings
Of his childhood dreams and joys, his innocent loves,
Of the pains and torments, and the soaring doves.
He play'd till he was breathing a very different air,
Despite his fingers' aching, and his tousl'd hair,
It sounded hard and fearful, but every strain was true,
Because no one would listen except the morning dew.
He'd set his mind on hiding every song he wrote.
They'd never more come praising and crowing at his door.
It would be pure like the morning star, it would be pure as the snow,
His name would ne'er be mention'd in some fashionable show.
Rising from the shadows
of a dark nation,
On the blood of its children,
A board in black
proclaiming a dedication,
Itself a shadow,
Cloth'd in trees and brush
It look'd out again,
Hoping against hope,
They wouldn't forget.
In the brightest corner
of the school,
Beside the road to the fields,
was a little gate
Open in invitation
Round the clock,
With a narrow path,
Leading straight to the door,
Waiting to be open'd.
A sign of changing times
and changing people.
Truths are written, display'd,
Enriching, happy times,
Ennobling the dust
With pretty tiles and driveways.
Slabs of white marble,
In the richest corner
of the school,
Beside the road to the ramp,
is a massive gate,
Barr'd in protection
Round the clock,
'fore a wide way,
Leading 'round an island
To the door,
The woman in red, I remember, moving in the dark,
Her moves grotesque and stark,
Arms white as death, eyes dark,
Dark as a pool in the snow,
Dark as her hair,
Dark as a girl's I know.
With the same white skin and sinews,
The same round breasts and hues,
The same fire and blazing eyes,
Sharp as spice.
The flailing limbs and shuddering frame in red,
Fallen on a misty bed,
Teeth white as pearls, lips red,
Red as the blood in her veins,
Red as her tongue,
Red as the shirt she wears.
Arms reaching out, her fingers,
Twitching and brushing, as they linger
Before my unblinking eyes,
A strange sight.
The men in suits and leathers creeping wary in,
Walking with measur'd tread,
Like lifeless dots, they spread,
Spread into the nothingness,
Spread out of their suits,
Spread around the room,
Like dead dots, clutching
At a sight most bewitching,
The face of the girl in red,
All this might sound filthy to the members of the group
That bought the rights to beauty,
To piety and good,
And seek to define all beauty,
Invade the world call'd love,
Defile the girl I know,
The girl twitching in ecstasy,
Leading her art where she would,
Writing her own life's story
As she thinks she should.
They said they were afraid, and they wouldn't try.
They'd live everafter. They didn't want to die.
There was no sense in striving to attain fancy goals,
If that were to require a walk on burning coals.
The power of the mountain and its molten well,
The fire and the thunder (were) but a way to hell.
No more its distant beauty, its fascinating call
Could move or disquiet a bare, unliving wall.
Someone would not listen, hasten'd up the slope,
Play'd around in wonder fill'd with childlike hope,
Remain'd above, awaited, a sickening new dawn,
A new communication, though split and torn.
There was joy in knowing what lay beneath,
In understanding the flaming wreath
That hung o'er your heads, that gripp'd your heart,
That held a fascination of a dangerous sort.
Those people kept on learning with ev'ry day they lost,
No matter how the blizzard sham'd the wither'd frost,
Or the bubbling cauldron, fill'd with many thrills,
Turn'd to pour its vapours high above the hills.
Lonely days and dangers, personal and close,
Secret fights and failures, painful cuts and sores,
All a part of weary life, all their daily woes,
Their only consolation was, it was a life they chose.
They struggl'd on and shoulder'd many burdens brave,
Taught us aught before they died, scatter'd, in no grave.
They had ask'd for much, and had given more,
Paid the price for living, and reach'd the Holy shore.
Others still surrender to the world around,
Bow to its dictation, stay firmly on the ground.
They don't face no danger, they live to be quite old,
And when they die, they die, and take with them their gold.
How can I see you, Lady in the shadows,
How can I perceive the (obscur'd) truth ?
Yours ain't a face I've seen in the windows,
Yours a heart pure as Ruth's.
Much can be made of the light on the surface,
Much can be said of the moon,
(But) a lot hides beneath the prettiest feature
We cannot uncover so soon.
I yearn to behold the wine in your cellar,
To remove the mask from the moon.
My eyes are my guides become faithless traitors,
I hear in the darkness your tune.
The pearls I behold, the joy of the winter,
Falling around in the spray,
They call it the hail - it just doesn't matter -
It lightens up moments so grey.
I want to know what you think of the winter,
I want to know 'bout your hail.
Do you converse with bottomless rivers,
Do you revel in the rain ?
O how will I know if I'll like you forever,
How will I know what I'll see,
When time has remov'd all the external layers,
When we are both become free.
O tell me a story, show me a poem,
Sing to me songs of your day
In the Sun of your childhood, the morn of your life,
In the home of the flowers so gay.
I must to my love, repair to my hills,
Return to the morning dew cold,
When the faraway tatters of memories spill,
From the skies in the hail as of old.
O show me your fevers, all of your fetters,
That I may know more of you,
That I may remember in evergreen letters,
The innermost spark and hue.
I soon must depart, escape from these skies,
Escape from a hundred lies,
I soon must discover the way to your eyes,
The way to your all, disguis'd.
poems by Corwin Everglade for BVL.