The Mystic
The moon shines brightly in the evening sky,
Bedecked by Venus on her daily ride
Across the constant stream of stars which lie
Outspread on high, as bright across as wide.
Upon the desert sand there lies a trace
Of caravans meandering along
The silken dunes, along the quiet face
Of drowsy earth, as in a peaceful song.
A mystic watches falling stars descend
While fantasy delivers him away
From there and then and into stories penned
By shrewd magicians of another day.
Is he on earth or is he far away,
Where nothing but the zodiac reminds
Him of the mortal shell in which he may
Still dwell for now, where peace its homestead finds?
An hour, a day, a year, a life, how long
Before he can discard his earthly coat
And turn into an angel whose fair song
Accompanies an ever-sailing boat?
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
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