The Days Of The Unicorn

The Days of the Unicorn

I remember when the unicorns
roved in herds through the meadow
behind the cabin, and how they would
lately pause, tilting their jeweled
horns to the falling sun as we shared
the tensions of private property
and the need to be alone.

Or as we walked along the beach
a solitary delicate beast
might follow on his soft paws
until we turned and spoke the words
to console him.

It seemed they were always near
ready to show their eyes and stare
us down, standing in their creamy
skins, pink tongues out
for our benevolence.

As if they knew that always beyond
and beyond the ladies were weaving them
into their spider looms.

I knew where they slept
and how the grass was bent
by their own wilderness
and I pitied them.

It was only yesterday, or seems
like only yesterday when we could
touch and turn and they came
perfectly real into our fictions.
But they moved on with the courtly sun
grazing peacefully beyond the story
horns lowering and lifting and
lowering.

I know this is scarcely credible now
as we cabin ourselves in cold
and the motions of panic
and our cells destroy each other
performing music and extinction
and the great dreams pass on
to the common good.

Phyllis Webb

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Magical, Mystical, Majestic

If deep in your heart, you truly believe,
a sight you then will behold,
of a creature of brilliance who bares a gold horn,
is how the story's told.

Many a man a horse they shall see
standing straight in front of them,
they have closed eyes of non faith,
and presuded a life of pure sin.

They canter amongnst fields made of green,
drinkingthe water from a lakes,
when I close my eyes and dreams bring me here,
it's then that I pray not to wake.

Thier beauty for years has mezmerized me,
perfection with them at it's best,
When God had created the Unicorns soul,
he truly out did all the rest.

Nothing has ever come close in it's tries,
to grace this fine world we call ours,
All the princesses living in enchanted lands,
stare down at them from thier high above towers.

I thank God each day that my eyes can behold,
a vision that most will not see,
they roam my world built on fantasy,
where there I shall let them roam free.

Sharon McCabe

THE PROPHECY OF THE TRUE HORN

Into darkness will I fade,
Into a night that Man has made,
But through that gloom shall gleam the Sun
When I am lost, and again am won.

Release! Release! I call to thee
In the New Lands across the sea;
Let another, on narrow pathways, come to me.

Furthest and Highest,
Yet not beyond reach.
Choose thou well a path that will teach
How the Sunken is raised
And Emptiness filled
And a wandering heart
Can finally be stilled.

Seek the Great Stone! Mark it well, with a sign,
That the one who shall follow
Shall see it is mine,
And, seeing, shall ponder and certainly know
As the Ancients have writ: "As Above, so Below."

And I shall guard the Source of Greatness;
Waiting by a teardrop
From neither joy nor sorrow born,
In silver bound, beneath the ground,
I am the Spiral Horn.

Translated by Michael Green

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