A Place Of Myth

It was said that the ice formed crystalline pathways underground,

Where no horizon rolls by or finds the subtle arched sky of faded root.

Midnight is not there, and remembering the way is how it's found,

Dream easy, airy tides of droplet stir, inscribed of wings, of wild fruit.

It's all so real, but not as it seems, not as a book of papaya bound.

How was it said that deep below the outer shell was bitter cold?

An image described but where was the strange hollow ground?

Once upon a time it was easy to know, but now how was it told?

And from where from all the world wishes fell, granted back around?

Like some magic has kept its secret, hiding it in clouds and cubic fold.

 

Faraway an oracle is burning the threshold that holds a glimmer.

A place of endless dreamlike waves under aurora's canopy.

Raging fire and silver chords over lighted peaks in sun's shimmer.

Outside the limits of this bluish glare is often where I will be.

Transparent waters reflecting each depth and hosting reflected glitter.

 

Where you found the fountains of life, your name was kept.

When the clock mocks that waiting is in vain, yet no pages say.

Sustained storms crept along in calm outer orbs as you slept.

Paused minute and likewise moments never enter or do they sway.

Ages very slow must have been written somewhere before they left.

 

The buildup of time against only timely patterns of ascendance.

Floating in air cities of a story, it hides from a half of night, that is day.

And long ago its name was the forested earth and moon's dependence.

The paths of gold and the roads of stone aglow, upon each byway.

Beyond our small corner we dreamed and there we were in attendance.

 

Illustrations can only frame its boundless depth, the skirting star.

A land of myth for the written tale, come and pass by, you must set out.

Any signs may tell in carved monoliths to find a way by far.

Such a place exists somewhere from where this place sets the route.

Go to ends, other sides, back to origins of a thousand year memoir.

I say now it's true without a doubt, connect the feeling, it's all too real.

Timelessness and cloud easily flow from some hidden, abundant source.

View those mythical lands, those hills of stilled sands and moving wheel.

Recalled from echoes of the words invoked and spoken of a set course.

The memory is the same, and many have walked through with zeal.

And the place has many a key that we can unlock doors to dreams.

And if the most peaceful place you've seen, there's more still.

Was it always said that this place is set, but not at all as it seems?

Crystal fire for the top of crystal skies, adrift in signal waves until.

Sure as the light of distant moons would spill out in longer beams.

 

 

TBC

©Iggy 1998