Visions Poem by Smoky Hoss

There's a man in the moon
pouring down dreams
upon still waters,
and a snake lurking
in the swamps
hunting up toads;
Through it all a lonesome man
walks many a mile,
wearing out souls, looking and longing
for the fabled crossroads -
Over yonder, wild grapes
taste sweetest while still
on the vine;
and back here, we drink
the cup of wrath
tasting a bit of atonement
in the blood, of the wine -
Lay your weary head down
at night, upon a pillow
made of distant dreams;
pray those ancient visions
are really as true
as they seem -