POETRY of WATCHER of the DAMNED: Golden Moon

Because if Tolkien can do it, I can too...

WATCHER of the DAMNED: Transmutation Texas - “GOLDEN MOON”

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Red berries hung in clusters from the branches, but in colorless light of the Moon, it was all silver and black. The Watcher grasped the branches, but he was too large and they broke off in his hands. Aggravated, he flung himself down at the bottom of the small tree, panting. He was tired, covered in blood, and hungry—but the Afterling was playing dangerous games in the moonlight. Sitting with his legs sprawled, hands on his knees, he pushed his hat back and looked up into the tree.

A cougar screamed; midnight was approaching.

“I understand you are upset, and I can’t blame you. I’m sorry life can be so hard at times,” she spoke softly from the treetop. “I hope you don’t want to kill me. I only shot your leader because she was going to shoot you. But maybe she was dear to you? Or maybe you are just mad at me for spoiling everything. Either way, I’m sorry.”

He turned his head. Or maybe people I love are dead, and I’ d like some answers.

“It’s just—well, you were so kind to Barnaby, I had to save you! I couldn’t just let her kill you...” Her voice quavered. “And I just wanted you to know that, while you were ill, I went back and found your notebook in the grass, and I read it. It was quite wonderful, especially the sketches, and your poems were beautiful. Your field notes helped me so much, especially the ones about flowers. Because of your notes, I have what I need, and my mission here is completed. I came back to say goodbye and thank you!”

The notebook came fluttering down beside his leg. Shocked, the Watcher blinked.

You read it.

“I liked the story about the ‘Afterling’ child. Is she a fairy?” Amazed, the Watcher reached over to pick up the notepad.

“But my favorite was your poem about the Golden Moon. It sounded like a dream I had once...” Her voice trailed away in the midnight light and she whispered to herself, “Long ago.”

He sang his own poem in his head, from his heart:

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Shine, Golden Moon!

In the warmth of your splendour, I recall paradise— So, rise...

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When the Moon is a Golden Ember

in the heat of a summer night

I remember the lies you told me in the Moon’s Golden Light

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And your hands were the touch of velvet

and your voice was the song of dreams

And your eyes were the light of midnight in the Moon’s Golden Gleams...

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Warm were the lips I gave you,

and you took the flower of this—

Your lips next to mine turned all of the world the gold of a summer’s kiss...

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I can never forget the magic

tho’ the dream ended all too soon

I remember the Love I gave you by the light of the Golden Moon