Mystogan

From Japanese fairytale/myth of Edolas

I will not complain, our sun is rising.
Somewhere between here
and coach house station, there’s a portal.

Long stretches of bog umber towards
horizon. Silence of furze, cotton, petite alpines,
white anemone rise to eternal
blue. A crescent moon, crow, and Venus.
Through grey cloud, hints of pink, orange,
lemon sunbeams form a path,
transform reed to spirit.

Over the land of forgottens, peat bodies slumbered
in wisdom, a panther lily drives parallel worlds,
earth to Edolas. Jellah prepares.

With gentle wings, rainbows of light, love,
the new Sungod, Mystogan makes his way,
his breath a gate to sky, Edolas to earth.

I am ready. Jesus is dead, and God
is playing hide and seek underground.

A dragon slayer with bandaged feet, winged
sandals, does not show his face, his mask silver,
back laden with earth ball medicine magic,
staves entranced in lacrima potions.
He is coming, a gatekeeper, ready to guard
what’s left.

Mystogan

Still, he alone will not save us, his vision
to protect a world labouring for birth,
without words

silk slips over my skin, I sink, drink of his blood.
No, he will not play the villain, we are in need of heroes.
I bring him red, my apple cupped in hand, contoured, no end.

If everything could find itself in mysterious caring,
what more would we need, other than sleep,
dreams, his love.
This he says, is the seed of the whole journey.