The Mystic

The moon shines brightly in the evening sky, Bedecked by Venus on her daily ride Across the constant stream of stars which lie Outspread on high, as bright across as wide. Upon the desert sand there lies a trace Of caravans meandering along The silken dunes, along the quiet face Of drowsy earth, as in a peaceful song. A mystic watches falling stars descend While fantasy delivers him away From there and then and into stories penned By shrewd magicians of another day. Is he on earth or is he far away, Where nothing but the zodiac reminds Him of the mortal shell in which he may Still dwell for now, where peace its homestead finds? An hour, a day, a year, a life, how long Before he can discard his earthly coat And turn into an angel whose fair song Accompanies an ever-sailing boat? Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com