I ride far upon a mare of the night
she of high fame and noble descent
snorting displeasure at my feeble attempt
to guide by the stars her unfettered flight.
We ventured to caverns lit by bright vermin.
We enjoyed the charm of enchanting seers.
I held the heart of folk I hold dear in a dream
carried lightly in my pocket, far yet too near,
for the fear came upon me
again and again that I might fail, might fall,
might show cracks of desperation
and who could love me now?
Who could find me bare and broken,
hear the words I could not speak,
recite the words that I must hear
to retrace, to find my place,
on back of a sacred mare,
back on my sacrificial journey?
Love becomes too great a luxury.
I must be free to name my price.
I travel the vast reaches of space for you.
I delve into my deepest pain to offer
painted posies, dripping in consecrated wine.
Where would I not rush in if I could blast the barriers
to bring your treasure, wrapped in shining glory?
Alas, Alack, these treasures I claim in your honor
are not those of your own demand.
Again I face you bent and bowed with empty hand.
I can not face such failure anymore.
We ride, I astride my plucky equine avatar.
She is, as it has turned, my only friend.
Our adventures become legion, become legend.
I’ll not be bringing home that story.