Night Scenes

Oh visions born of Mother Night,
     Where is thy staying power?
Departed swift on wingéd flight
     And gone the waking hour.

Thy dramas, fleet and myriad,
     Accost, bewitch, bemuse,
Entice the sleep-emblearied head,
     Then vanish in a ruse.

If wisdom came unto me thus
     I do not think I'd know,
For what the Fates conceal from us
     They are not wont to show.

Shrill Chaos winds its nightly themes;
     The will o' the wisp beguiles.
He is the weaver of my dreams
     Which span the misty miles

Within this underworld of thought,
     This labyrinth of mind,
And so the sights avail me not
     And are best left behind.

But yet I sense that on occasion
     I have nearly seized
A shred of meaning from a vision
     Ere it was released.

George Chadderdon © 1994