A myth rider


In dreams; traveler sings to himself.
places become pavilions made of blood;
the epic stories of Heart
on the sacred pilgrimage of love.
Soul, this numerous shape
has an appointment with fate.

She looks at us, calm on the hills of time;
patient on the ladder of mastery, to the sun.
Facing the endless changes of water in clouds,
as winds stroke the roads, bring them together
beside high rocks and smiley coronations;
ocean echoes the music of soul.

Be present, in absence of time;
among camels and wild horses,
a solitary rider seeks the missing moon
crouching on motherly land
washing the stains of blood with his tears.
What does his soul have to say;
night after night; the song of nature
blends his yearnings; with the white mirror of breeze.

His heart is bigger than his fears
clearer than his dreams;
stronger than voice of thousand years
riding from darkness into immortality of soul.
The land expands as much and as far as his dreams;
measures and conquers the untouched wilderness of life within.
Blood of heart, carved a mysterious path
between mountain of desires
and true longing for his beloved.
Perhaps there is too much of unknown
in one simple story of a myth rider;
without a shield and a blade;
on the road to unknown bronze hills
where white eagle and Pegasus
speeding to forgetfulness of tomorrow
centering in power of present.

They becoming heroes
marching out of a deep memory of earth;
thirsty for transparency and glory; with no choice
but living as a myth; as real as they can.
A myth rider stands up, roads are calling
and all places on earth closing the circle
around his ancient heart.

For the love of his beloved, he faced battles,
wounds, hunted by dark magic and ghosts;
he finally have found the strength within,
the secret of Pegasus wings;
to carry him above whatever he believes;
to fly without knowing why or how far;
what does his soul have to say when even having wings is no certainty;
to meet his beloved beyond the epic of eagles and the sun.

To be a rider of myth; to behold the light of the missing moon
like no eyes have ever done;
to let go of it all; to reach to the garden of the beloved
be shuffled along the stars and passing winds
so close to color of sky and whiteness of dreams;
a full circle within his open heart.
No need to arrive or cross any land;
no scream or blood.

On the wings of breath; hovering in love
the epic story of a rider of myth,
cannot be seen,
it blows across the seeking hearts
on white silence;
at the edge of darkness
and light.

~ Serena Devi, April 2013~