The Poet And The Prophet

A poem about transformation

Blank stares and the empty ritual All the city had to offer Of myself and of my fate I dreamed a sage unmastered

Stolen upon my horse While the dead around me slept I rode into the forest With a mind that knew no rest

The moon’s glowing sphere above Met me there within the grove And a hidden, shadowed figure With raven-feathered cloak

Eyes of shining purple He only spoke of riddles Hand upon my shoulder — Lightning

Sun’s glowing sphere above Brow tight, I left the grove I returned with careful wonder At how I donned a feathered cloak