The First Matter (Saturn in the Guise of Sadness) - Kayo Dot

A ghoul amongst the graves

The poet bore his song into the forest

And there was no moon, the moon was new

A silver coin snatched from its purse by thieves

Drank deeply of the night, down the path and through the trees

He trembled as he strove to find

The secret ancient grove mankind

Was all too busy to desecrate

Where he wrote and wept and pretended to be

The only entity left in his beautiful world

He bore his prize before him, his passion and his effort

The seed was dressed in the poet’s cloak

Occult…

Concealed…

An infant spirited away by its wary watchful mother

Into the chapel where he worshipped tree and cone

And leaf and stone

The swaying evergreens caressed him

Stroked his cheek, the fireflies blessed him

He used a sexton’s shovel and spade

To dig a bed for the cowled thing

The thing that made the town afraid

That no one caused and no one made

The nightingale poured out its dirge

To accompany the funeral

The grave is dug, the seed is sown

The stars snuffed out, one by one

And as the morning crept ashore

A mound of earth on the forest floor

Where there was only moss the night before