Departures

The moon bleeds drops of luminescence,
Like pearls, glowing beads of ichor fall,
Drizzling cool opalescence,
Upon the deceitful pond.

Beneath the tranquil, moonlit face,
A sweeping current flows,
As lithe as a dancer's grace,
Or a willow's whispering fronds.

The breeze slips through the leaves,
With artful, turning arabesques.
Craving reality, perversly, man grieves
Ghosts held by Purgatory's bond.

But still the moon glows with Life's essence,
As souls pass without leaving a trace
Of that fabric warped in time's skillful weaves,
History's roving vagabonds.