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'Neath the Moon
- 'Neath the Moon -
'Neath the moon, amidst the tangled branches of wooded lands,
There did lay some rugged ruins, as desolate as lost desert sands.
Once in times past, this had been a castle mighty as a rugged cliff...
Where lived lords and ladies, whose spirits now are cast adrift.
Still they dance in that place, when the stars align in their ways,
Pale green shades 'neath the moon, dancing 'till the end of days.
You can see them in those hours, if you look with the inner eye,
But they are lost now to all the world, so look well if you do try!
Only elfin folk could recall their names, and their kingdom of old,
Past the count of human history, and of past and future foretold.
If the animals could talk, they too could tell you many a wild tale,
But they too are silent in their wisdom, of which none may avail.
'Neath the moon, I have explored the silent places recounted so,
And 'lo, have seen the dancing shades when the moon sinks low.
In wild abandon with the fair folk I have joined in their mad waltz,
And cannot speak of all they showed me, within their noble halls.
I stood before their ancient kings, and timeless queens so pale...
That their pallor was like the white cloth, of ships gone out to sail.
They played their harps and their treasures I saw, fading in color,
For they were not of this realm, but rather of a place of wonder.
Ever clothed in mists as fine as their blue and emerald garments,
Sparkling to hide their sorrows, shining to disguise all torments.
Tarry not in elfin realms, for soon enchantments must ever pass,
And where they go we cannot know, they go beyond all compass.
'Neath the moon, you can see the hounds running across the heather,
Whilst thunderous winds pound the earth and foul is the weather.
Spectral beasts led by a huntsman whose name I cannot speak...
For he hunts the dead who escape his realm, shades grown weak.
Yet cunning in their weakness, they come to the ruins to gather,
Whilst the hounds draw ever closer, as their jaws eternally slaver.
Whilst wraiths roam amidst the oaks, their forms darkly hooded...
The dead escape the hunter's spear, amidst lands thickly wooded.
No architect could plan such a stage for spectacles such as these,
For this world is older than we know, and yet filled with mysteries.
Go about into the wild places, and see with eyes, as children shall,
You will behold more than you know, and have such tales to tell.
'Neath the moon, amidst the tangled branches of wooded lands,
There did lay some rugged ruins, as desolate as lost desert sands.
Once in times past, this had been a castle mighty as a rugged cliff...
Where lived lords and ladies, whose spirits now are cast adrift.
Still they dance in that place, when the stars align in their ways,
Pale green shades 'neath the moon, dancing 'till the end of days.
You can see them in those hours, if you look with the inner eye,
But they are lost now to all the world, so look well if you do try!
Only elfin folk could recall their names, and their kingdom of old,
Past the count of human history, and of past and future foretold.
If the animals could talk, they too could tell you many a wild tale,
But they too are silent in their wisdom, of which none may avail.
'Neath the moon, I have explored the silent places recounted so,
And 'lo, have seen the dancing shades when the moon sinks low.
In wild abandon with the fair folk I have joined in their mad waltz,
And cannot speak of all they showed me, within their noble halls.
I stood before their ancient kings, and timeless queens so pale...
That their pallor was like the white cloth, of ships gone out to sail.
They played their harps and their treasures I saw, fading in color,
For they were not of this realm, but rather of a place of wonder.
Ever clothed in mists as fine as their blue and emerald garments,
Sparkling to hide their sorrows, shining to disguise all torments.
Tarry not in elfin realms, for soon enchantments must ever pass,
And where they go we cannot know, they go beyond all compass.
'Neath the moon, you can see the hounds running across the heather,
Whilst thunderous winds pound the earth and foul is the weather.
Spectral beasts led by a huntsman whose name I cannot speak...
For he hunts the dead who escape his realm, shades grown weak.
Yet cunning in their weakness, they come to the ruins to gather,
Whilst the hounds draw ever closer, as their jaws eternally slaver.
Whilst wraiths roam amidst the oaks, their forms darkly hooded...
The dead escape the hunter's spear, amidst lands thickly wooded.
No architect could plan such a stage for spectacles such as these,
For this world is older than we know, and yet filled with mysteries.
Go about into the wild places, and see with eyes, as children shall,
You will behold more than you know, and have such tales to tell.
Published 25th Jan 2012
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