The Village On the Water V

Showering white light illuminates Bright-Moon Bay; In the overlooking Moon-Inviting Pavilion, Li Bai had raised his twinkling, rich amber Coloured wineglass To invite the same reticent Moon. Nailed to the sharp ridge of the snaking mountains, The spine of the Great Wall: dark, foreboding; Stacked beacons readied to throw blazing fire Upwards With every bit of much-fierce intensity as a Roaring comet; Hurtling stars streak across the infinite Firmaments... Exploding into fragments on the far side of the Uncharted world; Stark towers are emboldened by the fizzing glow From hot dripping torches; And, amidst his mindful watch, The border guard, enduring gnawing desolation, Dreams that, someday...the distant black river Might transport him safely home. They stamp on their feet and blow on numbed Hands; and, in that grave solitude, have grown Even more fearful of merciless hordes. Smiling, we prod at our warm fires...we do not Fear hordes. Those border guards know what is expected of them... What befalls them if they should fail in that Sworn service; After all...any chain is only as strong as it Weakest link. We are but indivisible cogs. Thus, as the Great Pole turns, so too The Great Axle...and each little cog in turn; And so too moves the Great Celestial Heavens... Its timeless, immutable spiralling... And all its marvellous machinations. Tethered, crouching cormorants, armoured, Scaly overcoats Bejewelled in reflected starlight, withdraw Further into huddled sleep; Unnerving screams and cries from strange, unseen Creatures; Livestock, restless, at unease in the upper tier; Screeching owls, swooping with softest wing brush From roof to roof, Prowling the tiles on scratching claws, Search for the chance of a straying cat; And in Ichang city the guard will be stood-to Above the city gates. Merchants, officials, artisans and Private citizens... Having long sought their beds, will forget daily Matters... Place a trust in unbreachable walls and Resolute men. Past the frontier the mongol has retired to His tent, Rolls himself up in thick blankets... For him there are no such fears; There is no fear for him to be found out on The vast grasslands of far-reaching, rolling plains. For him, fear is found inside the city's Crowded and confusing maze of meandering streets: His horse loves only the wide-open spaces; Where, devoid of any dusky glooming, At glorious sunset the massive, squatting orb Inflates the whole of the burning sky... And, at each vibrant dawning...lending radiance To a multitude of lush, steaming dews.