Beyond the Moor

Air is empty with voices on some nights, others are full with the space between words when we have nothing to say, the carefull absence of clinking glasses when man seeks solice in his own imaginary absence.  The atmosphere was of that air as red jawed men were in proximity but only saw themselves is amber liquid.  Of them one sighed a single sigh, like a leaf falling from a tree.  Green eyes looked up lit by the stars shining outside, they were alive, budding bright flowers on a velvet black sky.  So he stood and, with lilting tongue, lifted the sky, and the atmosphere, and the air above them:

 

"Little feet all a'blush

and luaghter and luaghter

there rings a hush

do not, my son, follow after

 

There are crimson feilds

where brave hearts beat no more

and there are wary sheilds

beyond that grave grey moor."

Author's Note

Please be liberal in your interpretation I want to know what kind of feelings are evoked here.

Reviews

[Vesa Lee]

I like this very much.
The picture it brought to mind wasn't one of sadness per se.
But more like a weight, a burden of regret or remembrance.

I don't know how well that goes for a liberal interpretation.
But perhaps it's best that I leave that for one more eloquently gifted. ^-^
Overall, phenomenally penned.