Sun up –
The lily flowers open sweetly.
The stillness of the day insects betray.
Silent birds perch brooding in the shade;
In undergrowth the sweating lizards lay.
Sun set –
His name young Icarus did scoff.
Bereft the day laments its faded azure.
Tenebrific bats repel the mourners,
Carried off by saintly nocturne measure.
Sun gone –
The luna crescent petals close.
Moon-scented glowing blossom incubates.
Dancing dryads peel petals anon.
The muse is born, the egg disintegrates.
The ancient goblins through the fever
Frolic in the lingering heat of day.
Young dryads drink the stars with infant thirst,
And smell of grass entwines through their array.
The weary traveller staggers lost
And stumbles on this clandestine debut.
The dryads, they did scatter there like leaves
And awful silence permeated through.
The muse –
In puerile scorn did swiftly leer
And left the traveller quivering with fear.
Her violet eyes aptly command.
The shivering man collapsed and couldn’t stand.
Man wept –
And sin became too much to bear.
He prayed, sobbing, for a sunny morrow;
Wept to curtail joy and play perverse;
Wept to see such beauty hid from sorrow.
Could the man now hope to flee
After seeing things no man was meant to see?
With this knowledge, could he be
Again within the company of the tree?
His mind a sword of rust,
Still sharp enough to pierce a thieving mind
That tries to rob the world of mystery
And legend he was never meant to find.
To wander in the woods at night
And see the goblins dancing in the vine;
One will see, in twisted, knotted wood
the man and muse forever locked in time.