He Is Often Garbed In Green

 
He is often garbed in green and it may seem as if a dream, if you have the fortune to listen to him

Black sockets of the skull and skeletal features are his form, although others may change his name and appearance to suit their thoughts

He is not constrained by space or time and when and where he visits there is no discernible direction
His size is variable and his tales are often odd

In the deep of night, I have conversed with him and he (if such a thing can be a he at all!) has told me much

Often I scribble down these moments from when I have walked and talked with him, before all memory fades…

Before all memory fades…

Deep he doth path, slow is his reason
Iniquitous is his gaze, again and again he speaks, yet my fragile mind bound as it is to this certainty of time can only grasp at the soaring heights of such knowledge

The night, the night, into dark, into deep green we go and gladly I follow his skeletal footsteps to such sights

Such sights!

Thank the Sire, I certainly do
Heed his knowledge, hear his footsteps, witness his wisdom, for in laughter and tears he teaches

Beyond time, beyond matter, incredible apparent and uploading usurious emotions upon the liminal reaches of my thought, through all I have sought through all that is my time, I respect the Sire and he is to be mine

Cold skull, leaves float and speech is whispered only to those who listen…

Only to those who listen…