The Silver furred Guardian

Butterscotch feather,

downy softness in resilient strength,

scorched in bitter wine and frosted memories of a childhood pushed away,

though mourned and cherished...

Minute delicacy embodied, untraceable to the eye...

but felt with each pressure of the pen tip to paper...

You follow each gust of breath and scent, searching for the threat or home within...

You relax for no one, not even in your dreams...

But in reflection's ice cold but sustaining reach...

you forget yourself for a moment...

and your escape is real, natural and true...

You are free for a fated moment, a lingering memorable moment

Reminders of what you forgot lifetimes ago, echo silent and sentient around you,

teasing you with ghostly fingers and pale echos of reminiscence...

They strike sudden and sharp,

drawing release and giving life amongst the numb, tender tendons...

They make you forget how hard it used to be,

the lies therein blind carelessly taunting...

But the traps are poor, self-assured and pale in power...

Weak and pointless, clouding your dauntless gaze,

You brush them away like silken sticky cobwebs of a maze only you can decipher in darkness,

Proving no one can judge you so harshly,

more deceptively cruel...than your own self-fashioned mental executioner...

You the sapphire-tipped silver-white arrow in a sheep's sheath...

But your only targets forever more,

are your own bindings and trove of meager faults...

Trespassing on the undulating flow of those you love so endlessly...

A paradox incarnate of strength thriving...

and faltering amongst the embers of torched dreams and untaintable ambitions...

A compelling bard who never truly remained,

not for the unworthy...

Nor whom ever truly left a memory untouched, unaltered...

for those who dared to wish, that they mattered...

Scorching healer, luminescent dreamer...

and sweet provocative warrior of flesh and hearth fire...

How you tempt the weary world so,

with your amber glowing presence of ancient lore...

A purpose fulfilled with each step, sought with each waking breath...

Miruna Cristiana Paun

28.01.2014