Lit Up Skies
They burn, the occult moon is in its fullest splendor too,
oh how I wish for the desert to release its young, while
burning sands and vipers slide upon them to no
destination other than to find the shade to feel some
comfort, momentarily though it is.
The lit up skies with meteors soaring through the
heavens, only to vanish and return again to where
they began when the big bang threw them off course.
Man awaits its destiny, ruin and doom foreshadows their worth.
Yet like a child I was, overtaken by your beauty, the midnight
sky released it to me, you alone knew me all along, you the
goddess of heaven cast your love through the Universe to
meet me in comet’s path cutting me off from life itself.
I felt you, your passion as the moon dimmed, the winter
solstice was about to begin, yet you alone weaved the web
of life, nobody on earth could imagine that life beyond
death existed, but the gods gave you the power to cast
a magic spell upon us.
Like a schoolboy I saw you in your entire splendor,
I wished for nothing more than to hold you kiss your
tight lips and beg you to love me forevermore, you
vanished, you left me alone, and the willow was no more.
Broken I was, no soul, no desire to live, just to be buried
beside our dying love, our eternity was fatal, we would
be together only in spirit and soul. The ancients walk the
moors, they build the fires and ignite their dead in
dripping ashes, souls and spirits are but one, they
knew they were here for a short time; they loved
and died by the sword, protecting and securing a
life after death in Valhalla.
Oh let their ghosts be a reminder of whence we
came, who we were, a tough breed of warriors,
strewn across the Celtic map, a history of wanderers,
lighting fires, burning ash, leaving their mark for all
future generations, like our world has never seen.
Firelight will shine the way, like fireflies, we will ignite
and shine a path, lead the way and follow our ancestors
to the grave, we will love always, seeking to fulfill our
ancestral rites, the night is ours, the cold our warmth,
the animal skins our comfort, the sword our savior.
Oh sweet ancestors, let us lead by example of who we
were, and why we are here, where we came from too,
let no man question our loyalty to our roots, our clan,
our heritage. For the harvest moon is upon us,
October fires are lit, our souls are warmed by its mighty glow.
He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published.In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.