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Pegasus Rising MAG
If my breath could ruffle the
downy underlayer of yoursoul,
life would spread through your
quiescentwings.
Your hooves would no longer
collide with theground and
the impact-bruises would disappear.
Thecrimson nourishment offered to
you by my enchantmentwould
ensure your flourishing prophecy,
and then thesoftness would return
to your velvet eyes,
(which I hateto see swaying and
moist in a sea of pain's harshswells).
But in thoseeyes,
an unsound entityenraptures my mind.
The darkghost evades my gripsconsistently
and leavestraces of its appeal in
youririses.
A gift from theonce-flaxen terror
thathaunts me like itsprogenitor.
Within a secondit's gone,
confusing mefurther.
My effort is futile, but I'll neverconcur.
No matter how hard or how long I try,
your heartwill run from me in fear
of being burned again.
Aresidue of death stays around
you in the pores of yourbones.
Pegasus arises, but I am dust.
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