Friday 16 July 2010

A Paen To The Moon

Hi Jim I said, to a ghost on the road,
Who was thumb was hitching him,
Slow rides from strangers,
On a dusty desert highway
As coyotes were crooning,
At midnight beneath a full moon.
Where are you going man,
I asked him, and he smiled and replied,
I am going where the night sweats,
With a wild, wanton lust for war,
And women await strangers,
Whose lips are dry from the road,
With kisses sweet as sparkling mead,
Their skin pale as polished pearls,
And yet far more precious still.
I seek the sacred place that awaits,
Always just beyond the next hill,
And the first line of the last poem,
That this life has been sowing,
So I am waiting for the ravens
To come here and find me, to set me free,
From this skin and all its dreams,
To rest amidst the brightest stars,
At the crossroads of the infinite mind,
Where the madness of the crowds,
And all the myths have become real.

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