Crescent Moon

A crescent moon sits atop an empty night
A barren land glowers a dancing night
Unto they that have sight
The gift of guilt is bestowed
Unto they of sightless plight
The curse of bliss is restowed

I would lay me a mat upon the desert sands

If I could live to see a thousand suns
I’d lay me down this laboured countenance
And journey the tempest waves of the high seas

I would lay me a mat upon the desert sands
Where the night’s speckled crown
Is not blush with the noise of city lights.
I would pitch tent under the northern skies
And wet my beak with their colourful nights
Where the gods are said to show off their painting.
I would moon dance with the southern tribes,
Swim across the majestic Congo,
And build me a cabin atop Rwenzori’s quiet crest
Where I would watch my last sun go to sleep.

I’d live amongst the stars and the winds
A journeyman; with my home at my feet
And my heart in my head-
But I’m old with the youngness of youth.
A desolate monk;
Trapped in the service of a faceless master
Whose empty voice lives inside my head.
I wish I were a butterfly
But I am stooped with the oldness of youth-
Cloaked in these earthy robes,
Of denim and leather.

© Kordasis 2010

The Promised Land

Counting the days to Promised Land
I stand upon a lofty mound bedeviled.
My staff albeit whispered ordained
Hits hard the rock beneath my feet,
Alas, the waters do not part.

Silently over my hour of trial
A cloudless sky of genteel gait glides-
I wonder if it mocks me

Countless faces affixed my back
Beads of sweat begin to wet my beard
Their petulant despair is my task to quell,
But I am heavy with the dread of deceit
A lie that descended upon my bed
In the high of a silent night
And raked my ravenous dreams
With visions of a Promised land

Alas upon this rock I stand
Afaced by tempest water of raging voice
And I, staff in hand
Haplessly peek at the clear blue sky
With salty beads of sweat
Trickling down my graying beard.

If I lift this staff this last time
Will the raging waters part?

©Kordasis 2010