The Mountains of the Moon

(photo by Jeroan Komen)

The World’s surfeit of idiots;

A fool’s load, a most wearisome state –

Future’s boot is upon its tired face,

Beautifully marred and pale.

Arise – go and bathe in light softly gloating;

Taste waters both creamy and dark –

Idle away in the colors of night that softens ground hungry for warmth.

Descend into valleys not trod by men,

Ramble about with weightless bulk,

Over the Mountains of the Moon,

Beautifully marred and pale.

Rake over paths taken but abandoned,

Know of their presence but cover them over;

Enter, then, into the Valley of Shadow and

Have the gorgeous peace of the forgotten.

I will meet you there, with a contingent

Of friends, strangers, foes and relations;

We will drink to your darkling arrival

From the dull gimlet of self-knowledge.

[Apologies to Edgar Allen Poe]