…of rivers

Under a silent moon, I hear the whispers of rivers
after all that once was, is lost
even the stars have fallen, their echoes fill the night
a melody of truth and illusion
and now even time is an illusion carefully crafted by the moon
the divine mistress of the night drifting in her pearlescent rivers
looking down upon the fallen, the poor souls forever lost
it is the pain that is never lost in the deluge of illusion
all the walls have fallen, all pathways lit by the moon
for she rules a confluence of rivers wrapped in the blanket of night
my heart clings to the night where in the shadows my light is lost
I ache to be one with the rivers, forever merged with sweet illusion
flowing at the whim of the moon, carrying the souls of the fallen
both the leaves and the petals now gently fallen
into the melancholy night, trembling
at the velvet touch of the moon
in the music of the wind they are lost their lingering fragrance
an illusion, dissolving into the waiting rivers
those shimmering moonlit rivers
where the whispers comfort the fallen
in the shifting shades of illusion
now a wretched creature of the night
where once found I am now lost
now only existing under the moon, ever drifting aimless in her rivers
embracing the freedom of the fallen
falling for the final great illusion
© Ann Bagnall