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A poem I wrote one night when I was asleep . . .
I found on it my pillow the next morning.
Amongst the fragrant flowers gleam the jewels past, a time of sorrow ‘ere the moon and fast – a month of sun and golden dawns till once again another lunar cycle past.
Rejoice for you who question, yet abide, the mystery of the laws of time. A cosmic shower points to you and beams of light so holy they be true – so bright to pierce the deepest depth - an answer to the intellect.
Rejoice again for Gods say some fear not for life to come – desire marks the way to the inner sanctum, obscure but clear in brilliant sun.
A pause, a heartfelt stop in time for some to learn the lesson of this rhyme, a grace, a light, to blossom deep and heal the helpless in their sleep.
No dawning dew could ever be so sweet than heavenly glimpses of celestial sleep – a glance, an opening through earth’s great shroud, a message shouted less than loud, comes passing through Valhalla’s cloud.
A plateau rising from the mists of time, a grace, a peace to all mankind who dreaming of the clouds divine, tread softly lest the Gods decline to favour those who seek to find, the answers to the end of time.
A sparrow free from earth ascends so fleet the eye can’t see the end, a motion in a haze against the azure of the sky, and earth so green amazes even the bejewelled Queen.
Algonquin chose to meet to battle our so near defeat, and loses till he’s at his feet, to a warrior too hard to defeat, and fallen to a harlequin so sweet the joke is such to make him weep.
Beyond the waves a crescent plays discordant with the manta rays; a moonlit nights horizon falls and plays a music for us all.
Across a sea of candlelight, the Muses call us to their light, and boundless heeds the brilliant night to answer from a clear twilight - behold a light so glorious bright that even in the darkest night a voice is heard to calm our fright, and points us to the golden light.
A vision through a mirror blurred, a fleeting moment lost but found, of distant worlds too far in time, communicating but sublime, a journey short but longer than a beam of light as fast as dusk in earth’s twilight.
A key, a key, then must be searched, a door to pass through and an arch two spans in height in darkened wood, and then a light, so bright that eyes can see the long road to eternity by night.
A starlit boat on waves of crested blue and green, and shores of gilded mountains which would seem, to meet the clouds and touch the evergreen.
A paradise for King and Queen and garden of the golden age of Never Seen.
A hint, a clue, a riddle, but beware – each age of mortal man is near, he longs to hear the answer to his song – his virtue not a paragon, but everlasting in his quest to learn of stars so strong, he sometimes heeds by doing wrong.
A star so keen so bright he lasts, his spirit moves to quench the thirst of knowledge that he asks.
And learns from past that what he yearns is part of what he is, and never lasts.
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Tim Mansfield
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