Ghosts of Guilt and Gold

Down dreamlike fields all filled
with wondrous, passing things
Visions rise up
and bastards hold them down

Oh, to live in the green places
Lost to the time
Lost to the race
Lost to the tune
of hearts and souls suspended

I could win
or hang upon the wire
The hand that holds
the ghosts of guilt and gold
slowly closes in

Let the serpent's finger stroke my chin
Lure me with sin
And gaze where flattened greyness
fills the minds of men

December 31st 1987