this mystery is mine.
Mine is the wind at my heels
mine is the winged song of Isis,
this accordian rhythm,
this deep mountain voice.
I have seen,
I have heard,
Pan's pipe and hooves of centaurs.
I have heard the sacred hiss of slithering smoke that touches the soul,
wings outstretched into Acropolis stars.
I have stood still as a Sphinx,
guardian of powerful wisdom.
Wise is kept secret.
Wise is a whisper,
that flickers
like a flame in the wind.
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