Dreams of a Poet

Destination to a poet’s desk …


The air is soft as yesteryear upon my

‘cracked and aged face where day is

wearing late and dusk was so fine

The brazen Raven haunts me with his

feathered black inviting wing soaring

on the darkest wind while perched

under darkened moon.


Listen to the wind it whispers to me

half the world is on the wind of change

so if all we know of Heaven is its

inviting gate then all we need not

know is Hell’s departure where the good

bad and the worst meet resigned

beneath the raging darkened skies


Love in the winds shout my love for

thee for the wild ride of the night whilst

I laugh aloud for love of you and

beneath my feet lay Highland heather

abounding from hot housed dew

falling and rejoicing in the stinging

windy gales of thrills.


Leaping from star to star until I see

it’s face the wind in all its opulence

splendor I will sit in my proud

tower in my town awaiting death

While swelling tide tells the wind

to tame or die yet heave them to and

fro like drunken seagulls fly at will

over the blanket of stormy seas


The journey of my soul listens to the

wind of change while I sat up watching

the rising sun and words fall far below

swimming upon the devil’s lake of

stench and Sulphur flame.


I welcome the wind it’s sweet sound

and feel upon my soul let it wisp me

from my place and take me like a

feather floats and glides along the

path to its eventual destination to a

poet’s desk under guided hand to

ink his last day and song of Heaven’s

praise and meet his maker down below.


© Copyright by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved

Vincent Moore
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Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more. 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.

4 thoughts on “Dreams of a Poet

  • August 6, 2018 at 8:39 PM

    Some really original phrasing and imagery Vincent, so well structured and penned my friend. You are so fluent and the sentiments always hart-warming. Kudos.

  • August 7, 2018 at 8:31 AM

    Thank you Tony, I have always striven to be as visual as I possibly can in my work. I am moved and inspired by so much in this life, although of late my work has suffered, I feel at times that I have reached the bottom of the barrel and my ink is drying up. The spirit has left me, I pray for it’s return and movement once more in my soul. Peace my brother poet.

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