~Last Night~

His fire under winter stars,
cobalt blue & burning cold,
vapours rise & twist with distant suns,
as the flooding Moon's silver sheen,
fills wood hill & river valley.

Where shimmering frost reflects the dancing sky,
and Sirius smiles a cosmic wink,
from distant frozen vistas,
to the little man of Earth.

He's gazing higher than 3 am dreams,
he'll catch a canvas night,
by oil lamps frantic flickering flame,
his thoughts in poetry he'll write.

His scribbled extension of soul,
in wayward season's bosom kept,
the drifting pain of tangled heart beats,
left behind on icy roads.

He's shedding the skin of social pretense,
thrown ragged to the gutter vile,
where the old blood runs as a ghostly epitaph ,
seen only by Owls & Vespertine wanderers.

How many have come before me,
who walk under heaven's fire,
searching a footstep's soul,
for the tarmac councillor's silent words.

A shooting star's blinding arch,
scars the eye of memory,
branding his mind with the vision,
of forces elemental.

They surround him with ancient whispers,
singing songs through soil & sky,
as the Zephyr bows to the north east wind,
he brings the night through ink...alive.




©David Nickle Read 2016
All Rights Reserved By The Author