Xanthius Poem by Nick Perritt

In Xanthius sat Little Smoke
A lucid dreamers' hollow tree
Where Finn the spirit wind would blow
His thoughts through foggy fields below
Into a sleepless dream;
On top a mountain of swirling songs
Where winds grow fierce like rolling fires,
Singing in tune with soaring stones
Beneath the pale moons' tearful iris.
Where dreams like flowers wait to be picked
From dosing minds and tossed into clouds,
To rain down memories of a falling sky,
Pouring a vision into upturned eyes
As they melt into the ground,
Uninspired minds swallowed
By the powerful urge to jump and fly
Over windswept mountains escaping the sorrow
Of a rotting tree starved of tomorrow
Longing to wither and die.