Thursday, 26 January 2012

The indifferent moon

My journey, a gingerly walk underneath the veteran’s winters paint, tis an expedition I would have rather not take’d.  Flung into this madness, I contribute my piece, between the limits of my existence, those jagged edges of a mountain deep, I take my travels far-above and close-beneath, creeping silently, lantern in hand – a dying flame that obscures the land.

Tis not me to decide nor select whether or not next I be elect, but tis the rule of the moon, in smile or scream, who sets sail to find another place of which to lean.  Till then I must crawl in play along this open green.

Ah! my moon, that suspended rock in the sky, what does it take for even a soft reply? Be it a murmur or better, half a line…I await you in the old man’s tavern till nine.  To share a joke is all I ask, before we part ways forever-last, and the worms beneath the morning dew take their turn to speak to you.

Oh, my moon, don’t you care? what heaven records inside His lair? Look! my knowledge of the trees and stones abound, my logic’s sharp, my vision sound.  Come, give one a chance, to show you why the world appears a sneering lie.

Oh…drunk like a fish I must be to wait, for your rule of silence is still pretty quaint.  For with tomorrow’s years I hammer yesterday away, shining a light so pure that one day I shall bring even you a cure, but still you turn your shoulder unsure.

My moon…suspended you are in space agape, silently watching over us ants figure out an escape.  I close the tome of a thousand years, and rush outdoors in hysterical tears.  Crying out the rivers dry, now I begin to understand why, teasing us with hot summer’s day and cold winter’s rains, all I can do is fake my life in happy chains.

© 2011 Roberto Nacci All Rights Reserved