Passageways

Greet the days -             greet the moon,                 gather the stars.. .         Man is not at one with himself -         collars the infidel ways of his         race under pressure domes of widening silence.         I scan the horizon barely cognizant         of the metallic bits that pierce         the night's crown - no         jewelled orb stabs this queen's spectre.         I am running and lost. . . ever slow         to breech this reasoning.         Honeysuckle mist with armfuls         of orange lilies with scent stronger         than the carriage needed in their gathering.         Place the constellations upon their heads,         the colour so transcends.         And then there are the bludgeoned         stars fallen into the eyes of         my farmhouse scene.         The sphinx moth that darns the night         with her acrobatics escapes the wreath         of troubled moon that places about         her proboscised head.         Let her stone the night in peace,         feel palpitations on her ocean breast.         The darting of stone cracks in fissures         along the causeway to the stonehouse         is certain and sure.         A definite mood projects         the starling tunnels,         forlorn now with limpid darkness,         crushed lavender from the pews         of thoughtful night.         There are armfuls of crushed bats         in the passageway to my heart,         each reeking with squeals         to alarm the most frightened princess.         Only one has stained the pass key         and I must find her.         A toad abides the thoughtful recess         broken under the wall.         He is a good toad and mourns         the night creaking from the river bed.         A monster dragon to the insects         making a living near the light -         a source of amused contempt to lepidoptrists         squeezing the eye's circle,         pressing her to release her giddy charms.         At morning, skeletal remains         shall stain the blighted chain (mood collector, toad, moth)         but, for now, only the night buzzes with alarm,         cracking her secrets with each tiny monster         hurled at light's intrusion into dark.         Perchance I shall narrow         down the divide, position alarms,         remind myself I am inured to the         mood & scent that mans this cosmic bandwagon.         I hold up flowers to remind me         light escapes through jelly         and that rare LUMINESCENCE exists only         in lost bat chambers         buried deep near the recesses         of the snake.         The cry of havoc,         all those armfuls of collapsed lilies         breaking under the toil of enforced handshakes         leaves me like a broken lamp.         I have no more shades to patch         the plinths or barricade my heart.         I have left my love on bended knee         in a land I choose to forget.