Mythical Girl

For all those who are asking if the myth is real,

It's as real as breath, so listen, so feel,

I am the girl that stole a horse,

Into a night paved with remorse,

I rode it like no other can,

I mounted it when no one was looking and ran

Away from the arms of a home

To the heart of a home,

Away to the heart of hearts,

I am the girl that ends where she starts,

And never starts at the same end twice,

The one that steals at no price,

And seeks refuge in her stolen treasure,

Until the time comes for the pressure

To rise, she drowns in covers of ''what if''s,

I am she, the one who for leisure dived off cliffs,

And came back ever more alive, ever more dead,

Came back with horns and rings all on her head,

And thorns in her eyes,

And a mouthful of poetry and cries,

To ride again into lands new and old,

Old because she's seen them all unfold

Beneath her feet, new for she's never lived enough

To endure the most precious of the stuff,

So she tasted, she smelled, she touched and kissed,

She saw her dreams and she aimed, but she missed,

And she drank from rivers hidden,

She relished in fruits forbidden,

She trode carefully but stepped on souls and,

She turned meanings into sand,

With just a touch from her hands, weak,

Small, Barely enough for her to seek,

What life had for her on the top shelf,

Eager, but barely enough to help herself,

Yet, this girl is so mythical because,

If you were to see her, you'd never know who she was,

You'd never know the things she said,

The sins she committed that rendered her dead,

The lands she visited, the hearts she knew,

The souls she loved and how her love is true,

How many eagles lifted her and her free fall down,

Then the holes she dug searching for a wooden crown,

You'd never see the real price,

This girl has paid for being nice,

And being nice is all what you'll see of her,

You'll think it's all what's truly there,

And you'll keep wondering if she's real,

Will you ever feel what she's capable to feel,

Or has she known the borders of the devil

To willingly dance with him at every revel,

Tapping over water together with every last breath,

Or is it true the end of her myth,

That this girl trode away on her stud,

From the borders of the devil to find God,

And once she rode on this path alone,

Little about her was actually known,

But rumor has it, behind her she left a friend,

Who knew truthes about her to no end,

They say he was a part of her,

And he knew her when no one would dare,

He'll be the one to tell you the relentless truth,

About how much anility was in her youth,

What he's found out in the dungeons of her home,

About monsters and creatures she's all become,

But ask him if she's good at heart,

Ask him why is it that always alone she departs,

Why she left home in the first place,

What are the meanings of the markings on her face,

How was her smile, her cry, her shoulder

How did he watch her get older,

Ask him if he ever saw the wooden crown

If she wore it dusty and muddy brown,

About her eyes speaking instead of her tied tongue

And about the fading silver in her lung,

Say, do you hear of her?

Did you and she breathe the same air?

And when he says yes, and he will,

You'll have the answers solid and still,

Then ask him, after he tasted of her tears and blood,

If he knew if she's ever found God.