2016 01 06
No one sees the tall snow-white horse appear
in cold gray drizzling rain during rush hour,
blazing ghost of light walking among cars
stalled on the freeway, eyes gleaming gold stars.
Gripping the hammer of Thor, he strikes hard
anvil of ambition to forge new wheel
for wagon that glides the high rainbow road,
bearing Helios across the spinning world.
She hides in berry bushes by the cliff
for three days to catch a glimpse of the horse
that appears just after dawn in cool glade
and drinks deep from the bubbling spring of light.
The teacher crumples paper with her song
and sneers as he tosses it in the trash,
explaining that her lyrics are nonsense,
dumb drivel that no one will ever read.
Everyone sees the blazing horse of fire
leap through the brick institutional wall,
astonished when she leaps on its broad back
and rides him galloping wide city streets.
Naked and shrouded in long flowing hair,
she rides the white horse up high pyramid,
and peers through crystal jewel of insight
to keep watch as we trudge toward pointless death.
Whenever I look in mirror of time
I see behind me the White Horse of Hope
who waits for me by the Fountain of Tears
where people gather at the city hearth.
When she arrives from the desert of fear
riding the White Horse, we stop our vain work
and listen as she sings enchanting spell
that rewrites our world view of everything.