The mist enthralled horn
Of the sacred bull
In the morning snow?
Where the circling stair of dawn,
Lost in the clouded mountain
Fled from the grinding cars
The winged bull
Did not die.
He waits on the far hill,
Beyond the last constellation
Of the sky,
His gold hoof pawing the thin air,
For the downfall of the masters
For the undoing
Of the king of disasters,
Waiting to regain
Realm, that the lakes of the full
Moon may smile again,
Walks on her silver toe
Across deep pools of stars.
© Sharon St Joan, 2013, written in 2007
Photo: © Yuriykulik | Dreamstime.com
2 thoughts on “The Winged Bull”
Lovely. Thanks for sharing this.