The Sirens Song Poem by Dustin Lambert

Now the full moon pressing down,
lights the trees and lights the ground.
Standing on the forests edge, deathly silence nothing said.

Weary hearts turn cold and grey, if fear keeps the heart at bay.
Stepping forward to take a dream, breaking silence, to see what's to be seen.

Trees they whisper, softly tell.
Tales long and old of a wishing well.
Locked and lost, in the forest deep.
Secrets, secrets, the wood nymphs keep.

Midnights hour, minutes past, midnights moon, rests high at last. Mystical blues, and silver sheens, hiding hinterlands few have been.

A sirens howl, sullen yet sweet,
Drawn closer, by mans conceit.
Farther through this eerie place, take no notice, leave no trace.

Lost at last, long lost at last,
firmly held in the forests grasp.
The trees they whisper, in ancient tongue, the fairies dance, has begun.

Spiraling, sparks, come from their lair, the wood nymphs dance, eases despair. A gentle zephyr blows from their wings, upon the face, nectars scent it brings.

Through the wilds, silver and blue,
the empyrean moon brings into view.
The wishing well, lost no more, lying open on the forest floor.

The siren sounds, not far away,
breathless, as the shadows play.
Fairies, sprites, and nymphs abound,
no wishes made, though it has been found.

To the siren a given gift, draw her close to make the wish. Could she dream the same as I, or disappear after her good bye.......

II

...... Dawn awakens, I am all alone,
Shivering, shaking, without a home. Chased a dream through the forestlands, now forsaken, with my head in my hands.

Mornings sky is cold and grey,
my body's bound in the heavy clay.
Tired, to tired to stand, as the fog and mist hide the land.

The wood nymphs, have now all hid. Into great despair, my heart has slid. Left here weak, and exposed; for the blackest of ravens; my marrow and bone.

The spruce trees stand, like tall dark spires. The scavengers caw is now my choir. Bonded and bound to this hallowed place, to lie here weeping for I am disgrace.

Around me grows a willow that weeps, with my eternal tears, to fall at its feet. Burgeoning higher than the highest spires, never to stop, never to tire.

I will lie here now, and after morrow,
for I was love, before this deep sorrow. If she had dreamed the same as I, to the empyrean heights we would rise.