Within Minster Grounds I Tremble Poem by David Lacey

A thousand dreams are lost it seems as petals in descent
Falling to the ground in forgetting of a world chasing golden chariots across an azure sky

To wonder why
To cry
To sigh
And to try for something greater
These are the things the shake our souls
And make us equal with our maker.

Within Minster grounds I tremble
Seeking a knowledge of myself
So that I alone may reassemble
All that I’ve left lost along my way.

Fairies gather here, leading young girls astray from the dance
They are the brides of slow decay, Pretty maids, lifeless dolls,
Parading cold stares, adorning themselves in the feathers of
Innocence when a look within the eye leaves trembling the lover of love.
The Willow Man is playing the pipes of midnight melody
Hecate, great mother, maiden, crone, grant me the power to rise
Grant me the power to stare into the eyes of my gods, my prophecy, my story fulfilled.

The moon is quilted by blanket clouds, they are gathering,
Soft and slow, small worlds they are gathering, and the
Boundaries between plains are shifting. The crossroad awaits,
There we are to choose, do we loose ourselves in dreams?
Or do we make real all that we feel we could?

The ashtray is overflowing, my bottles empty
My mind aflame with ideas arcane
Here within my shanty.

Still I sit and stare
And make as though I was never there
Here within my shanty
Playing with my hair.