Caricamento in corso...

Dweller of the Vale

Dream haze and half-light;
The broken arch of brazen night.
The hand that holds the paragon
Spilled silver-tongued prophesies
To regain what was not lost.
Watching with my dragon’s eye
The subtleties that pass on by.
Watching you displace the stars
From ancient spaces,
Waiting as the thought effaces.  
 
Storming through the origins
That bear to me stark truth.
I stand trial for love.
She says to me
I burn much brighter,
While I wept the night
Three shades the lighter.
 
Open eyes at the break of dawn,
Washing in waves across the lawn,
I am the otherness in the waking valley.
A spirit that roams the pathless woods,
Standing in sunbeams,
Catching the river rush.
Voicing the unspoken
Upon the passing breeze,
Drunken by the vertigo
Of whispering trees.  
Reverberating atop the mountain
Where they gaze within and look below -
I travel where once I dared not go.  
 
I ravel the matter into a thread
That traipses through
My fastidious head.
To no longer to spill
Through companionless hands
The hope to grasp the shifting sands.  
And so my heart returns to me,
Empty of its quests and spoils
With hunger to rest acquired toils;
To stitch itself deep within
The sacred place where it has been.
 
As sure as silence that transpires,
It fuels anew poetic fires.
Picking up the scattered pages
Unfinished with thoughts
Throughout the ages.
Examining the inhibited speech
That came in words I could not reach.
Steady on the other side,
I wash myself in a cleansing tide.
 
The hand that holds the paragon
Grips a little tighter.
Steady with my dragon’s eye
I watch for signals in the sky.
Ready with the silver tongue -
I am wild; I am young.
Holding dominion of your power -
I seek the treasure of your tower.  
In the waking valleys I roam free,
Regaining what was lost in me.
And I stand trial for love.
She says to me
I burn much brighter,
And I wept the night
Three shades the lighter.
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