Burning Soft The Midnight Oil
Poem By David Lacey
Whisper soft, whisper slow, shifting as the green man knows,
Drifting soft, twisting slow, listen as the river flows.
Knowing all there is to know, to set your foot beyond the valley known
For echoes set on wings of a wind forever long since flown
Ask me how I know, ask me and I'll show you, all it is to flow.
To languish in temptation, squalid in appearance.
Always lavished in redemption, rarely valid in clairvoyance.
Burning soft the midnight oil as the witching hour approaches
Turning as the nightlights boil everything she touches.
Pendulums cast to questions asked with no honor in reproach
Ask the pendulum man to swing it'll never be too much.
Morning comes a running on fast, she won't stay long she knows won't last.
She knows the time to sing as past, laughing laid upon the grass, below the waning moon.
Falling in and out of season, bloom, go swoon in tides of reason.
Drowning in cascading tears, we're running out of fear.