Eyes at the Gate

Lovely eyes that never fix on me
within that terrible dawn that arrives at the gate,
But always yearns in a stir-of-dreams
that never stops spinning in a whirlwind of deceit

Keeper, keep me in the fold in a hold of prayer
for the old and wretched is in the vine
on the dusk of wine...

Beautiful spring-time blue, buoyancy in a summer-set red;
rectify to the world your mission in sunrise hues
on a deserted island of sand and leave...

Engage her resonating tune
within that hollow cool and bind sensation
of an outer heat that warmth's and laments her inner void...