Tuesday, February 24, 2015

There shines a fair road

[From: "The Last Journal of Gwyllyn"]

Subtle yet certain, there shines a fair road,
a gossamer thread, a thin golden hair,
weaving its way up through branches and stars
and bidding me to follow - and yet do I dare?

For once on that way, the things of the earth
would be drained of their vibrant color and taste;
and what would life be in such a strange world,
in such an insipid and grey-muted waste?

But behold! what a blessëd and glittering light
shakes down the filament from its farthest end,
from beyond the splendors of this fading realm,
from the fount on which all splendors depend!

And taking a step onto this fairest of roads,
I find that the footing is solid and secure;
and so, with the beckoning light in my eyes,
I run to it headlong, the way being sure!

Friday, February 20, 2015

Drawing Near

[From: "The Last Journal of Gwyllyn"]

Between the grinding gears of life,
in the very midst of strife,
there comes a sense of quiet here,
drawing drawing drawing near.

The blinding brightness of the day
begins to dim and fade away;
a darkness comes, bereft of fear,
drawing drawing drawing near.

A shadow-silhouette is seen,
eclipsing every earthly sheen;
enduring love and peace appear,
drawing drawing drawing near.

Monday, February 16, 2015


[From: "The Last Journal of Gwyllyn"]

Never was Anna-Maria more beautiful
than when she gazed on the twilight sea,
in the spring of her life; when a lonely gull
cried aloft in the tumbling wind; when she,
heedless of gusts in her unfettered hair,
let saltwater fall from her blue eyes there.

The waves, each draped with a white wedding veil,
bowed low as they came in procession ashore,
and hushed their fair voices near a maiden so pale,
so beautiful and wistful, so pitiful and poor.
The golden sands shifted beneath her bare feet,
and stars began blooming, the nightfall to greet.

Thursday, February 12, 2015


[From: "The Lost Writings of C. James Gwyllyn"]

Awakening, as if from death,
drawing in a full soft breath;
arising from the coffin-bed,
knowing I am not yet dead.
Light is on the shaking leaf
and in my eyes. The tender grief
grows mellow in the morning hour,
becomes a kind of joy, a flower
blooming in the hopeful spring,
glad of life, of everything.
Drops of rain fall in the sun,
glittering, golden, every one.

Sunday, February 8, 2015

A Lovely Muse

[From: "The Last Journal of Gwyllyn"]

Melancholy is a lovely muse,
and a welcome houseguest after all;
I will hearken to her tender call,
her visits I will not refuse.

A twilight wind through many leaves
precedes her knocking at the door,
like gentle waves upon the shore
while the ocean under moonlight heaves.

A maiden young, but growing old,
with a wistful smile, but shining bright;
her grey eyes brim with glad starlight
glimmering through the quiet cold.

She stirs the woodland of my mind
with many fair and whispered words;
I hear the songs of many birds,
for a time I leave the world behind.

And from these visits she makes to me,
I have learned that it is not so bad,
to be profoundly happy, yet a little sad,
and to live life thus, contentedly.

She has made me see the world anew,
with potent splendors under light of day,
and at the same time watch them fade away,
unhindered by all we could say or do.

She has taught me to listen to the song
that these things sing before they go,
something they would have us know,
that Here you will not tarry long...

...your yearnings pull you far away
from this dark world; what here you love
will never last; O look above
where night will soon be endless Day!

Wednesday, February 4, 2015


[From: "The Lost Writings of C. James Gwyllyn"]

I would bring her fair dreams in waking life,
and smooth her white and furled brow
in every discouragement and strife,
her deepest nights with stars endow.

But her world pirouettes in distant space,
en pointe above these stranger-eyes,
resplendent, arrayed with light and grace,
a noon-sun in these fading skies.

And I, a fratello she never has met,
a comrade fated to be unknown,
behold in wonder the red sunset,
having truly loved, and loved alone.