Phobetor

I gaze upon a white horse

its shape, carefully outlined by the charcoal night

black embrace, only reaching the edge of his skin

he shines defiant in the dark

the moon receives from him

borrowing brilliance

I look into his eyes

and I see fear, and I see pain

A look betrays his majesty

quiet sadness

I reach out, placing my hand on his warm skin

remaining still, I can feel life

flowing, beneath my fingers

Fear dissipates

his eyes

now distant from me

have a secret to share

but as all deities obey

mortals never understand

I lift my hand from the rich white sand

as if freed from some tether

he runs

a beacon of light

fighting off,

shadows at night