In the eve of my thoughts I cannot see what guides me.
Even the white mare appears as black after dusk. I know her only by the rhythm of her step, and the quality of her guide. The stallion is a skilled impostor. He knows her cadence well, and is versed at imitating her quality. His black form is hidden from me during the night.
In the eve of my thoughts I cannot see what guides me.
She is beautiful. Strength and nobility embodies each step, and I am sure of my path as she leads. Truth is all she knows, and she is steadfast in her deliverance of me. She is filled with life’s passion, commanding fire and wind. I feel bliss while in the wake of her lead, never fearful or uncertain.
He is wild, reckless. The only desire that holds meaning is his own. He is willing to destroy all that is love in order to obtain what he covets. I am his muse. He is a shadow, the essence of a lie pretending to be light. I awake in the morning and weep for what I have done at his pleasure.
In the eve of my thoughts I cannot see what guides me.
All is dim. I know the shadow is lurking, waiting for my hand. I reach for the mare, hoping for deliverance. Closing my eyes I breathe and pray for her, the one who can guide me in truth.