The Apprentice and the Stranger

I sleep in the valley of mist and old men, of dragons in silver that swim in the wind. Wild horses that run to the brake and the bend; to the freedom of fire and speed without end. In the deep of its tone, the touch of its light, its heat burns my eyes but my shadow repents. The light brings the edge of all that I know. The light is the hand that holds nothing but smoke. It is all I can grasp in this valley of souls. I watch from a distance atop a crumbled stone wall, as the evening is claimed to its fiery grave of pine wood and stone. I wait to protect the virtue of words from other mens stories of colours and glory. Their truths and their lies, their gold and their gain. Their graves lie wet, forgotten, in the dazzling rain. I sleep in the Valley with my soul and my books and listen to the rainfall in this valley of ghosts. -- Michael Robinson