verse for a shallow fable

Fallen from the dreaming tower
wand’ring in my sleep into that
jungle where an idle hour
teaches more than sightless years awake.

Errant captains lose their mark on
shores of distant stellar beaches,
wracking solar winds from crowns gone
cold and still, forgetting youthful wrake.

Be the theory of my conscience.
I am past distracted missing
gentling hands, and freezing instance
slips through fingers of the grief I make.

Should I roam the wondrous waste, still
you the shadows hold in rev’rent
breath. And in far spaces I will
keep you close and cannot bear to break.

To endark in spir’s supernal,
molds of mid-Americana
never there to want. Infernal
wanting emptiness I now forsake.

~ by Colonial Governor on 24 January 2007.