Dark Muse
06-23-2014, 12:16 AM
Ghost Lights
I recall when they told me
that by the time we see the stars
they are already dead,
so it is millions of ghost lights
which watch over our dreams
and nightmares,
collecting sorrows,
instilling hope,
their hovering souls
guiding the lives of men
to safety through the dark.
I remember
the enigmatic man,
beneath the moonlight
we delved into occultic
mysteries, seeking to decode
the secrets of life,
but he had a barbed tongue,
and desired to be worshiped,
it was beyond me to kneel
at the base of his pedestal,
nor remain upon mine
where he would keep me
as one keeps a flower in a vase,
so he vanished the same way he arrived,
but in his blindness
he possessed the ability
to hear the singing of the stars.
Thus he knew archaic,
and forbidden knowledge
of the dead, yet I doubt
he understood it for there was
shallowness beneath
his genius.
Does their lingering
illumination prove
there is life beyond death?
They pulse still, they dance,
they create their own harmonies,
and how vividly they live
within our imaginings,
how desperately we cling to them,
believe them possible of
miraculous feats,
we weave legends around them
we are haunted by them,
memories are hinged upon them.
Can we ever be as beautiful in life
as they are within death?
I recall when they told me
that by the time we see the stars
they are already dead,
so it is millions of ghost lights
which watch over our dreams
and nightmares,
collecting sorrows,
instilling hope,
their hovering souls
guiding the lives of men
to safety through the dark.
I remember
the enigmatic man,
beneath the moonlight
we delved into occultic
mysteries, seeking to decode
the secrets of life,
but he had a barbed tongue,
and desired to be worshiped,
it was beyond me to kneel
at the base of his pedestal,
nor remain upon mine
where he would keep me
as one keeps a flower in a vase,
so he vanished the same way he arrived,
but in his blindness
he possessed the ability
to hear the singing of the stars.
Thus he knew archaic,
and forbidden knowledge
of the dead, yet I doubt
he understood it for there was
shallowness beneath
his genius.
Does their lingering
illumination prove
there is life beyond death?
They pulse still, they dance,
they create their own harmonies,
and how vividly they live
within our imaginings,
how desperately we cling to them,
believe them possible of
miraculous feats,
we weave legends around them
we are haunted by them,
memories are hinged upon them.
Can we ever be as beautiful in life
as they are within death?