God's own sanctum...
to twilight dilation...
forest blue eye...
of the fathers perfection...
burn fire bright...
with it's sizzl'y snappings...
cedar smoke singing...
this sage to his sleeping.
Above...
soldiers ranking...
there...
star banner'd wheeling...
circling...
keeping...
their fire lighted one.
Mystery seeming to...
dream within dreaming...
she...
guile'y creeping...
and creeping upon.
Suddenly...
pricked...
of alertness...
to fleeing...
the wizard awaken...
his dream...
not a museing...
but demon in waiting...
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015
Art: Lilith, by John Collier 1892
Imagine, the time just after sundown, in an ancient forest...The azure light of remaining sky and the stars fill it...the wizard has eaten his pork and beans and quietly gripes and farts, before the smoke of the fire of his camping, sings him to his dream...the stars wheel above as a vision of love over takes him...Merlin is ever the sentimental sod...and then...that creeping minion...I recommend...do not fall into the clutches of them, these titty flinging harpies...rather remain in the wood carving the twigs of poetry, and hoping upon hope that someday love again might birth God's progeny...
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