Monday, April 16, 2012

A poem for the hillside

to the hidden woods where
the  lost can stay
dark during the day. 

Cold and hid away
from the torpid sun,
that rings the days. 

In the held fast twilight
linger the autumn souls
of old and whimsy. 

The swindling works
become wild dreams
in generations ahead.

Strange pages seldom read
Maidens and flowers
Elder gods waiting dead

Bright wings away
with wonder.
No point to stay

Gap upon the tiger
Dull in the night
only smolders an ember

Away distant dreamer
Greet this busy day
soon comes another anyway

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