Last night I stood before the canvas of a screen
And watched the record of a memory unfold
Under the guidance of a Tengri shaman’s dream.
Wild spirits intermingled in a strange embrace
And thrust themselves onto the straggled earth
To banish forth the menace of that place.
Their voices soared in worship. The eternal blue
Lost in the crown of a lighting cloud
Dispersed its bounty to the lucky few.
“Our secret is not yours to tell. Keep silent
And when the morning breaks you will be safe.
Go to, my child. Go to. Awaits your island.”
The quiet magic of a world forgot
Was mine for moments only, soon begone
And I’m returned once more to my own lot.