Dreams - Belarion 156

Sorcerer

I see him tread a craggy path
Over dark hills, outlined against the sky,
In a flapping cloak, and his sardonic eye
Gleams with a joyous wrath

And he lifts his arms and behold
A flight of birds all gold
In the sunset carrying dreams,
Strange dreams from out of Africa and Spain,

Then in a harsh voice he spells the sun
And leaps and dances on its crimson touch
Casting distorted shadows on the moon
New risen.

I see him flinging out his cloak,
That swells and swirls like thick smoke,
That rushes outwards and expands
To engulf the houses in all lands.

Now, naked on the highest peak,
He pauses with both hands above his head,
He laughs and flings them outward with all his might
And above a million stars upon the night.

The Garden

There is a garden where Death has gone to sleep…
Dark Death like a pale tired boy nods dreamily,
For he is enamored of her and doth keep
Her luminous blossoms forever from decay.

There in the dusky day, in the dim air
Dreams, like the disturbing notes from a secret song
Shimmer and float between beauty and despair
In an ecstasy no hear endured for long.
And to this golden garden all lovers come.
Young lovers, happening on eternity
Where dark Death sleeps and dreams, there venturing some
Are briefly raised beyond desire or pity.

Raised to a pitch of beauty unendured
By faint mortality, where sobbing shakes the
Garden’s subtle silence, that immured
Sleep, from which inhuman labyrinth
Death awakes.