Mayfield

23 09 2009

If lunacy be lunar then Apollo is my name

I ride upon the wings of night without regard for shame.

I cannot reach my love with smiles or Turkish delight,

But impart secondhand sunshine to those that weep at night

Ever-present through the day but superseded I

Await my brief but potent hour to radiate the sky

While darkness seems to mock my worth I cannot help but gaze

Upon the ground that tingles, full of luminescent haze

And wonder what the world would wish upon if not for me

For stars are only tears astride Sulva’s tranquility.

It’s true what critics said about inherent complications

In giving birth to happiness instead of lamentations;

The sorrowful are plentifully soothed before my stare

But seldom is the man who seeks the joy within my air.

So if you wish to bask within the coolness of my sphere

You’ll have to prove your sanity by jumping off the weir.

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