The Wind is Isolde

The warden’s bewildered, the keeper’s amazed

as the gate gapes behind us, a hole in the haze.

Our steps seem uncertain, the cobblestones crazed,

pearly stars burn above us like pinwheels ablaze.

Though lanterns hang vacant in streets staring blind,

broken paths paved in puzzles compel me to roam,

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



The cannons keep calling, the piccolos shriek

and the druids drift, drumming, while pale pagans speak.

They’re urging me forward, my senses they’ve mined,

and the trail is erupting, come hie to the hills

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



The looking glass glistens, a firefly glows,

and the brownies leap lightly on tiny tip toes

for the twilight’s collapsing, which serves to remind

that as dusk turns to dust, with no time for farewells,

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



The ponies of plunder prance, passing nearby,

as crusaders on stallions cast stones from the sky.

The figments they’re facing have paid them no mind,

but our broncos are bolting. Corral what you need,

                                        I’ll not leave you behind.



My visions are swirling, they flash from the crown,

from the rainbows of summer, the tinsel in town.

While the compass wheel’s spinning, the minutes unwind

inside evening’s auroras – so cling to my cape,  

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



Drooping droplets of wax adorn pinched candle wicks

while the vampire steeple’s cathedral clock ticks

of the terrors in tombs where fagged flames lie reclined

with their flickers fast fading – abandon the glim, 

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



The orphans and widows lean into the breeze

watching horrified hangmen descend to their knees 

for the angel of mercy’s no longer inclined

to forgive vengeful  phantoms (oh Furies of night!) ,

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



The bandits are brazen, the highwaymen lurk,

some imbibing dark brews of a hag’s handiwork,

mostly gulping from goblets like goblins maligned.

Woman! Widen your wings, catching wisps of the wind

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



The lepers laugh, leaping from tombstones of steel 

chasing rollaway caskets on luminous wheels;

while their shadows shake, shrouded, twixt trees intertwined,

twisted time melts at midnight, take hold of my hand,

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



The gremlins grope, grinning face down in the dust,

while the sprites and the pixies are watching nonplussed.

They sling bolted arrows at spectres enshrined

within winds somewhat flustered, just fly from your fears 

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



The tattered toy teddies and raggedy Anns

have escaped to the skyways in kid caravans

but now, spellbound by fancies, know not that they’ll find

their parade’s evanesced into echoes of dawn –

                                       I’ll not leave you behind.



The wind’s my enchantress, beguiles and commands

me to search for my fortune in faraway lands

and whispers her mysteries of passions entwined,

for the wind is Isolde – unfurling my sails 

                                        I’ll not leave you behind.