A Serenade Of Echoes Poem by James Whitworth

I departed from the shores of evening,
Inhabitant of this fictitious work.
Bidding farewell, with frequency of hope -
'To this cell of souls, may I not return.'

The vanishing dance, voice of the silence,
Motions of night, through which we intertwine.
Opening the gate, the Ancient of Days -
Purveyor of light in whose fire you shine.

Sea of sky stretching the length of the wind,
Reflecting the stars in distinctive view.
Perched upon the heavens and revealing
Those child-like visions, leaving hints of you.

Woken, from a serenade of echoes!
Cocking my sight to a new day dawning,
I curse the tide which effected our end
And leave my dream to the mouth of morning.