The Night Mare

The Night Mare

The silvered moon a night sky rules astride her pallid steed, disdaining waking world for realms enchanted, glimpsed but rarely seen, reflected in a midnight’s dew or savored in a fitless dream.

Equine progenitor of dormant terror, links to the White Goddess’s nest all but forgotten in linguistic devolution’s race to nightmare. Oh what tales of distilled, darkest wonder, fused within echoes whispered in subconscious realms, might she evoke were her dreadful imagery in light educed.

Evocations, invocations, postulations, allegory twined in metaphor disdaining simile, as the Lady of the lunar realms rides forth, dressed in dismay upon her fearsome steed in palest moonbeams cast. Eerie splendor spreading winding wakes, footprints of dew on frost, as in the night she haunts the dreams of would be consorts, poets all.

Prophetic birds shorn of plumage plummet from starless skies along trails once blazed by formerly angelic hordes, their cries startling souls suddenly sundered from recently deceased hosts, as paths are crossed, then crossed again, the whirlwinds of her thunderous passing flinging them aside, husks of former possibilities now run dry.

Equine progenitor of dormant terror, links to the White Goddess’s nest all but forgotten in linguistic devolution’s race to nightmare. Oh what tales of distilled, darkest wonder, fused within echoes whispered in subconscious realms, might she evoke were her dreadful imagery in light educed.

The silvered moon a night sky rules astride her pallid steed, disdaining waking world for realms enchanted, glimpsed but rarely seen, reflected in a midnight’s dew or savored in a fitless dream.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2014; all rights reserved

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