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Raw Fields
Raw fields in late autumn
Conceal the whisper of lost souls.
Riders of memories
In the armour of dreams.
Inventors of the ancient times.
And all together,
Like herds of timid does,
Are crossing a wavy plain,
Chased with a sorrow of the past,
Chased with a foreboding of the future.
Use your sharp delightful tongue
this is true through the indigo night the past shall die soon
The cryptic support for new perception, when so called men disappear into the shadow
They decry her and beat her down, as she leads them to her balanced bloom
Prejudicing their prayers against her, denying her bountiful embraces with only lies so shallow.
Peace
Dylan
"One of the best results of life, is the torment of love"
Dylan Eliot