the journey men came upon that fabled blue mountain of older texts streaming weird epiphanies even less intelligible close than far as if its spires of rocks enveloped by clouds of a foreign nation spoke an arcane language lost in a century of yesterdays
they resolved to canter through that awkward obstruction as inconvenient as death their destination rooted more in imagination than fact
the lad took control of his rabid followers hungrier than food or salvation would satisfy
strange purple skies of night and stranger days of white crescent moons casting less light on their endeavours as any scripture interpreted by heathens
a carpet of stars was laid out by chance as a guide to those given to hope and glad tidings would soften and yield to sleep a happy exit from the suffering of their days
they rode on
horses as captive to their riders as any man a captive to his life
a new threat emerged natives more versed in sorcery than the journey men took aim through glasses superior to the optics of ordinary men so versed were they in all the colours of the mountains they reigned
they saw a trail of ants easier to disrupt than footprints in the sand
they kept their own counsel before their own God and followed his precepts as carefully as priests guard their sanctuaries and sacraments
arrows released as carnal warnings shaved the lad’s scalp but missed his heart as if he were not ready to give up this life nor the oxygen of his breath
they stalked each other the natives and their prey as histories stalk the past
Flynnpoetry 