Harvest MoonA Poem by John McGraeli think its done...
Oh! There was a time, when I, when I did sleep. But no! I did not dream! I was like a corpse upon my bed, Barely even existing in my darkness. But as the blackest blacks came forth, And as the clock struck twelve, I dreamt! I thought! And I arose: “Talking,
talking, spinning a web of words, Pale walls of dreams Between myself and all I see” Pacing about my mind, Behind pale walls of words And dreams of poetry. Talking, talking, pacing, breathing the sobering Midnight air. Harvesting the harvest moon, That hangs so low, and glows so fair. --- Oh, thank you, thank you, “Harvest Moon,” For shining my own light on me. Pale walls of words and dreams of you, That I, I write; and harvest thee. Oh!
Now the sun does take his rest And
all his light is gone, digressed. Thus
time itself is static, is unchanging, Time
is stopped. He
listens for, he listens for, “tic-tock,
tic-tock, tic-tock” But
in his dreamless mind he knows, No
sound will reach his ears. And
so he sleeps, he sleeps, he sleeps, He
suffers through the years. His
corpse upon his bed, it does not dream, It
does not stir. Time
is stopped, there is no clock, To
chime or speak a wakeful word. And
so the sun! The son! The son! The
sun, he will not rise. --- Oh!
You! Harvest moon! Let your moonlight Shine! Let
me write, to write, to write; to harvest Pale
walled dreams from thee. Talking,
taking, writing, pacing, Spinning
a web of words! Crafting
from your light Pale
walls of dreams for all to see. Talking,
writing, pacing, breathing the Sobering
midnight air. I
harvest you, oh harvest moon Who
hangs so low, and glows so fair. Now
speak! Speak, oh glowing one; Say,
is your light not but the sun’s? The
sun’s light never did go down, It’s
glowing, glowing, all around. Time’s
no longer static, it has changed, It
is not stopped. So
I listen, listen for, “tic-tock,
tic-tock, tic-tock” And
oh! Behold! There is a sound! It’s
ringing in my ears! Oh
yes! The sun, he will not sleep, Or
suffer through the years! Yes!
The sun, the son of eve, The
son of eve will rise! Yes,
I, the sun, the son, the son: I
have dreamt… And I have thought… I truly have arisen! Now
speak! Speak, oh glowing one, Say,
is your light not but the sun’s! Reflected
to the darkest nights, To
keep the midnight chime alive? To
wake this dreamer’s dreamless mind? So
I may write you, write you down, And
let my light shine all around? So
I may breathe out life for thee? Now
is it you who harvests me? --- Speak! Speak, oh glowing one: Now
is it you who harvests me?! © 2010 John McGraelAuthor's Note
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Added on January 17, 2010Last Updated on January 30, 2010 Tags: harvest moon Previous Versions Author
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