by Nick Gisburne
I strive, I stretch, to feel, to find a way
To understand the subtlety I see.
The spirits who surround my soul, the Fey,
Are more than myth or madness, more, to me.
Their mystery is music, magic, mine,
A gift for one unworthy of its gold.
Rejected, never devils, not divine,
They play with powers infinitely old.
I reach, and in the laughter of their light
They dance, delighted, distant as a dream.
Beyond the dark, destructive touch of night,
Through silver stardust, snow and smoke, they stream.
They smile to see the wonder in my face,
And vanish, to a brighter, better place.
