Eyes spy the towering peaks ... a majestic sight
A back clothe of shimmering powers in the moonlight
The realm of enchantment towards which the traveller treks tirelessly
The lake shore a place of refuge ... a hidden niche within the rocks ... warmth and safety
Because the traveller has been this way before ... a familiar terrain
Once more in solitude ... again a seeker of the ancient domain
The eagle that resides high in the sky, the guardian to the doorway
It’s presence witnessed on the thermals above the lake earlier in the day.
He sleeps ... and in the night the guardian enters his dreams
Together they walk the busy streets of the trained assassin and the dying screams
As one they witness the steady decay of the material realm
They watch the puppeteer’s blooded hands ... the faceless spectres at the helm
The demon hosts who drive humans into destruction
They watch the gemstones of hope fall into the darkness until they are lost
... their light gone
He wakes sometime in the darkness aware a watcher stood close by
The snarl of the wolf beside him ... a warning cry
His trusted companion ... dedicated as always to its post by his side
Another demon spectre ... its attack deflected; its master defied.
Then its morning ... and by first light he readies himself for the arduous climb ahead
As magician now ... after incantations of power ... his mortal form is shed
And as the silent hawk he now lifts high into the sun kissed sky
The cool of the morning air upon his face ... he utters a mighty cry
And with deadly eyes he scans the summit rocks
... seeing the king of the mountain watching him
On a whim ... he transforms back to the form of a man
Wanders towards the king ... and in the common language he discusses his plan...
Later within the glow of ethereal light ... he traverses the evening sky
Beyond the outer rim of the astral ... with ease the watchers he can defy
Towards the others he glides ... towards the memories of what was ... before the capture
He notes with gratitude his rapture does endure
Beyond the known dimensions he transcends now ... comprehending the transition
Then the rapture is gone...
He is by the shoreline once more
The wolf by his side ... resolve fading, he is no longer sure
The task at hand is such a mighty spell
He is weary ... he is but one solitary shell.
How can one grain of sand change the flow of the beach?
How can the blind be made to see by just one minute strand?
Again as the mortal he fails to understand
But deep down inside the rapture burns with certain flame
There are many others now within the one name...
Written by Matthew James 6th August 2010
