I shall haunt all these places

[From: “The Last Journal of Gwyllyn”]

“I shall haunt all these places”, said he,
“in this great gothic world - I shall haunt them all:
a spectral moth amid blossoms at twilight
imbibing their fragrance beneath the budding stars
after the day has slumbered into deep dreamings,
when comes a stone-grey joyous melancholy,
with air like maiden-breaths expanding into quiet
and innocent peace. I shall wander thus, and rest,
wander and rest, and discover all the secret places;
shall become lost amid the moon-sheen, among
the everlasting mountains of dark-swelling silence
to await the serene and fair dawning of the Sun.”

The Final Movement

[From: “The Last Journal of Gwyllyn”]

We gaze through eyes bright with candlelight,  
across moorlands of memory, toward the departed sun 
and into profound depths of shadow-remembrance:
delving, delving - yet those riches are lost to time.

We could not hold forever to the fair visions
which flickered lively upon these walls
in daylight-dreamings, in patterns manifold,
dancing to a symphony now fading away.

Behold we now, from a quiet distance, 
the world turning slowly, wick smouldering, 
wax melting thick on the table, mounding up in silent waves
like the empty heath-hills stretching out beyond sight.

Shadows remain in corners; yet the sun of tomorrow
promises a wide expanse of new-blooming heather,
as now the moon rises fair and bright, the wind serene 
under the stars, under the oaks, under the eaves of the house.

Whispers in the Night

[From: “The Writings of C. James Gwyllyn”]

Breath is pale beneath the moon,
blood is warm as afternoon.
Colours blend in salt-sea eyes,
storm clouds halt in silent skies.
The rain is heavy but never falls,
the voice is loud but never calls.
Dreams are vivid but all forgotten,
bright like stars but ill-begotten,
fountains behind a darkened glass.
Memories are kindled, but swiftly pass
like whispers spoken in the night,
like promises with the morning light.
Two faces at the upper window
behold the moors now draped in shadow.
Her breath is pale beneath the moon,
his blood is warm as afternoon.