![]() Harvest MoonA Poem by John McGrael![]() newest poem, FIRST DRAFT![]()
Previous Version This is a previous version of Harvest Moon.
Oh! There was a time, when I, when I did sleep. But no! I did not dream! I was like a corpse upon my bed, Barely even existing in my darkness. But as the blackest blacks came forth, And as the clock struck twelve, I dreamt! I thought! And I arose! “Talking,
talking, spinning a web of words, Pale
walls of dreams Between
myself and all I see.”** Pacing about my
mind, Behind
pale walls of words And
dreams of poetry. Talking,
talking, pacing, breathing the sobering Midnight
air. Harvesting
the harvest moon, That
hangs so low, and glows so fair. Oh!
Now the sun does take his rest And
all his light is gone, digressed. Time
itself is static, is unchanging, Time
is stopped. He
listens for, he listens for, “tic-tock,
tic-tock, tic-tock” But
in his dreamless mind he knows, No
sound will reach his ears. And
so he sleeps, he sleeps, he sleeps, He
suffers through the years. His
corpse upon his bed, it does not dream, It
does not stir. Time
is stopped, there is no clock, To
chime and wake him up. And
so the sun, the son, the son, The
sun he will not rise. Oh!
You! Harvest moon! Let your moonlight Shine! Let
me write, to write, to write; to harvest Pale
walled dreams from thee. Talking,
taking, writing, pacing, Spinning
a web of words! Crafting
from your light Pale
walls of dreams for all to see. Talking,
writing, pacing, breathing the Sobering
midnight air. I
harvest you, oh harvest moon Who
hangs so low, and glows so fair. Now
speak, speak, oh glowing one; Say,
is your light not but the sun’s? The
sun’s light never did go down, It’s
glowing, glowing, all around. Time’s
no longer static, it has changed, It
is not stopped. So
I listen, listen for, “tic-tock,
tic-tock, tic-tock” And
oh! Behold! There is a sound! It’s
ringing in my ears! Oh
yes! The sun, he will not sleep, Or
suffer through the years! Yes!
The sun, the son of eve, The
son of eve will rise! Yes,
I, the sun, the son of eve! I
have dreamt! And
I have thought! I
truly have arisen! Now
speak to me, oh glowing one, Say,
is your light not but the sun’s! Reflected
to the darkest nights to keep The
clocks from stopping? Is
that how the clock struck twelve, to Wake
me from my dreamless sleep? Did
you wake me, So
I may speak, And
spin a web of words for thee Did
you, craft for me, Pale
walls of words and poetry, That
now I do but read? Speak,
speak! Oh glowing one, Now
is it you who harvests me?! Oh, thank you, thank you, “Harvest Moon,” For shining my own light on me. Pale walls of words and dreams of you, That I, I write; and harvest thee. © 2010 John McGraelAuthor's Note
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Added on January 17, 2010Last Updated on January 21, 2010 Tags: harvest moon Previous Versions Author
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