Times Bitter Tempest

The full moon on the steps of the Western horizon sleeps.

The sand shifts; the stars fall from the sky, and alone he weeps.

From mountains high to valleys low, times bitter tempest doth arise.

He ponders the coming day, and in the early morning silence…

He in the solitary moment cries.

He feels the chill of the late summer night air crawl up his spine.

And again he remembers before times bitter tempest.

He recalls days of light, when once upon his heart it did shine.

He knows few understand times biter tempest, to which when uttered says “blessed”

For nary a soul should escape this fate…for someday, oh someday, they too…

Shall walk in the silence of their own inescapable and introverted quest.

Thus he kisses the full moon goodnight, and awaits…waits….

THE COMING LIGHT.

J. Allen Wilson © 9-4-2009 / 9-7-2009