Of the Wild...

In the realm of the wild, where the world is painted in ox-blood and dreams
Our voices rise in the heat of the early morning dawn and the mountains are fleeced like sheep
In the wake of the quiet and the scream of the nightmarish beings
The hooved are broke-backed and cotton-brained
Grazing on flowers and singing hymns to the stars in the sea...

In the realm of the wild, where the world is carved like the bravest of Australian trees
Our eyes peek at the somersets of the children, winged and brave and serene
In the berth of the rising suns, they are golden and the most precious of things
Intelligent and wise as the universe itself, as they hum gentle lullabies in the breeze...

In the realm of the wild, where the world is dangerous and simple and bleak
Our lips are motionless but the songs arise from our throats and our tongues are cushioned gently against our cheeks
In the warmth of the arms and the bosom of solace and the coolness of the slumber we seek
We are ancient Gods and creators of suns and we breathe in the mist of the dawn
Curdled in the bark of the most ancient coyotes, our names are written and unseen.




*note* this poem is under a creative commons license and is copyrighted to the author dragonpsyche