Light Gallops

The shades of my existence are coming to a final end Sometimes, in my sleepy wonder, I conjure up if the Sun yawns for a day, If the moon awakens in the middle of her night. I don’t dare to mark my grave, At least not edged in stone. I don’t sway the reader With my own lullabies of death. But I hope to come across As the maverick that I am, With my weapon that I hold dearly, With my dancing fingers, A fire roars in the spit of my salvation. If this death dances above my tomb, Then the layers of my old skin are Finally mounting off my hide, With the hopes that I am immune To all temptations. The saddle is fastened and cured with fire. The reins are my legs, And they ride the galloping light in the aim to purify All that has died within men.