Sombre Moon

Poem

In a mystic terrain of twilight I wandered
Possessed by a muse’s pondering impulse
Into a magic wood of many remembrances.
I passed the boughs of sure promise,
The vines of assured counsel ignored,
For the feet were drawn as if by a spell
To a silent pool’s call of allure.
The scene was lit by a sombre moon,
An old old light’s tired luminescence shone
Grave and dull like mountain stone.
By the pool I hazarded my gaze,
Skirted by marsh and tangle were they,
Its placid peace to strangers forbid.
I passed those gates as one kin to the forlorn.
‘Ere long since I bid thee farewell’, said the moon,
‘Now thou returnest of all shorn!
Gaze in the pool mirror now
To learn what thou hast become!’.
I edged to the pool lip and gazed then
Into that silver mirror all even
Lit by that old old grave moon.
Slowly I saw myself, beside the visage
Grew the outline of a bustling place;
Once teeming with enterprise and industry,
The smoke of hearth and sacrifice rose
Like twisting vine to the skies
Joining hands with wispy brother clouds.
Memory brought with tired hands
More shapes lost to my vision.
Spires of hope stood alone,
Domes of crumbled dreams there were,
Moss infested temples housing familiar deities
Lit by a darkness’ lampless glow.
And the moon spoke again, asking,
‘Content thou thus, aim abandoned wanderer?’
From my vacant mind issued the words,
‘O sweet reverie, O debilitating sympathy,
Thou seest false with vision blighted.
Look upon those scenes, the pathways untrod,
The curve of overcome momentums.
I have pivoted to a golden Sun,
In my breath is the future’s difficult birth,
All my splendid ruins have led to Him.
In His exacting tyranny’s freedom I revel,
I course the secret orbit of His will,
I walk immune to Night and its ills.
I forsook the grey roads and stifling spires,
The domes too small to habit my heart.
I learn now the Titan’s stride,
I laugh alongside God’s whims.
Fallen I rose to the heights,
Felled I became as the immortals.
The old gilded crowns I gave up
For the never setting Sun Divine.
Flee despair, flee melancholy,
For I have supped the ambrosia of Infinity.

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