Walk in woods of pure life
to seek the golden light,
finding trees alive with
centuries of mindless power,
look at grass,
inch long blades grown by the box
and know that sometime, somewhere
all things in life were real,
rivers of the deep dark night,
slide gently into the mind and drown the brain.
Beyond each field, meadow and lea
set out in round feet,
ride the moonbeams of ageless eras past,
long diminished by war,
when all the Earth
had a layer of good growing soil,
then know that sometime, somewhere,
all things in life were real,
rivers of the deep dark night,
slide gently into the mind and suffocate thought.
Sit back in rest
against a bush reduced to lifeless dust,
wonder at the sun
now gone to enlighten us,
while turning blind in a pit
of ever constant black night
and know that sometime, somewhere,
all things in life were real,
rivers of the deep dark night,
slide gently into the mind to flower conception.
Lost now are those
who love the return of life,
the ground shall open
but offer nought to any man,
for we are all one inside
of that of which there is no other,
God forged patterns on the land
to reveal a sign of love,
knowing that sometime, somewhere,
all things in life were real,
rivers of the deep dark night,
slide gently into the mind to crush life.
Richard Allen Beevor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rivers-of-the-deep-dark-night/
