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The unicorn was white, with hoofs of silver and graceful horn of pearl. . . . The glorious thing about him was his eye. There was a faint bluish furrow down each side of his nose, and this led to the eye sockets, and surrounded them in a pensive shade. The eyes, circled by this sad and beautiful darkness, were so sorrowful, lonely, gentle and nobly tragic, that they killed all other emotions except love. --T. H. White

Winged Majesty

i dream of winged horses
their fire known only

to the Gods of Storm
and those secrets
privy only to Creation . . .

whose Majesty shall we see only in
those parts of dreams
   reality has yet to touch

all stillness as the rain
departs to allow those

rapid wings to kiss a horizon fading

that comforts them in lonely flight

winged Pegasus
may we touch
even the filtered, golden dust

left beind from your shadow
fleeting across such wanting Souls

i feel you buried in recesses
of my heart unknown to even me

an emotion never felt and pinned
in those magical caves of delight

never known to humans before
you fell to ruins in a time long before Time

when Chaos met Order

in a cosmic collision of divine Afterthought . . .

did the Gods want you for themselves to Ride
the skies between Heaven
   and Earth

touch down but in
moments of reflection
when all things beautiful depart

our longings for all that remains


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