She was a hundred hooves of horses blithe
thundering over a hundred prairies wide
under a hundred summer skies
with a hundred golden suns that shine
Into a hundred wondering eyes.
She was the voice of the raven who cries
She was the eagle, she was his eyes.
She was the wings of the hawk who flies
Over mountains and valleys from set to rise
She was the path that steadily climbs
Into her city that scrapes the skies
All the king’s horses and all the king’s knights
Couldn’t contain her, not if they tried.
She was all of the loves of all of their lives,
She was all of their mothers and all of their wives.
She was honey so sweet, she was poison so vile,
She was all you could see for many a mile,
She was all of the stars from all of the nights
She was a hundred darks and a hundred brights.
She was a hundred tears and happy sighs
She was a hundred souls and a hundred lives
Thundering under a hundred skies.
About the Creator
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Hall of mirrors
Things used to matter, before all the noise. And at that time when things still had meaning, there had been dreaming too, when dreams still mattered. And the brightest dream from those times was full of mountains and seas and smiles and the types of passion that absorbs you the way a dog is absorbed by witnessing something for the first time: with absolute presence, and awe.
By Giulia Viti4 days ago in Fiction
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