Hawkmoon

You see not the beauty of the risen moon

While the life of the Black Jewel waits,

Nor the poignancy of autumn’s sun

As she bows her head ‘neath winter’s gates.

 

What price, Hawkmoon, to damn the dark

And spit in the Devil’s eye?

 

You no longer know who You are anymore;

You’ve lurched and limped and smiled lopside,

Yet you know you’ve had but the slightest taste

Of the sickening horror of the Jewel’s life.

 

You’re still on your feet, Hawkmoon.

Time has been granted to you.

 

Time enough to have seen the dawn and wonder.

Time enough to have put aside pride.

Time enough to have seen your heart's desire;

Time enough for blood’s call to decide?

 

The timeless sands pour ever swiftly.

Hawkmoon, think you that they pour for you?

 

What hope is there for your daughter unmade

And the soothing creak of her cradle’s rock?

When the silence fills with the silent tick

Of the silent hands of the silent clock.

 

Your fear denies the child that would be.

No daughter to spoil then, Hawkmoon?

 

Tick tick tick tick tick tick ticking...

Fears upon fears in a powerfull ring

Will she remain your soulfelt dream

Or stalk through the world like spring?

 

Only she can know, Hawkmoon

But can never do so without you.

 

What time, my friend, to reclaim your heart?

Lost within ephemereal pursuits;

Dreams, strengths, paths, words and fears.

All of them empty of worth.

 

What time left to waste, Hawkmoon?

What time?

 

(Copyright Gordon A MacIntyre 2008)