The Fifth House Poem by Barry Middleton

At sunset in the fifth house,
the old lion is dreaming.

Fire is spent so he accepts
the solace of the evening.

Desire and the heat of day,
the essence of his breath,

are chilled by the afterglow
of passion and by death.

Days of glory and devotion
recall a grander age.

The fervor of his soul is lost
as he turns a final page.

Purple night follows him,
descending on his will.

He gazes at the golden stars
and crests a distant hill.