Librations

The weary lids of day slide

Towards the west as old

Grey phantoms appear and glide

Before my eyes in the cold.

 

They whisper sweet nothings,

Reminders from yesterdays.

A voice in my head singing

Music that dances on rays

 

Of ghostly beauty. Lovely

Luna, sad and wonderful,

The solace you bestow me

Is as immeasurable

 

As the expanding cosmos. Ghouls

Prance along my path, speaking

Infinitely as the spools

Of time unravel, breaking.

 

Lost in a land nocturnal,

The strange dreamy holy hymn

Of the universe, eternal,

Plays on in the shadows dim

 

Of my consciousness. Phoebe,

My inquiry into the night

Is for you and within me.

I am entranced by such sights, 

 

Heavenly matron! Your pale

Glow is the same burning hue

As my soul, minutely frail

Amidst what is false and true.