Rapid striking of Copper and Nickel,
Tantalizing both the ear and the heart,
What is it that this hypnotic tune,
That has both the momentum of a freight train and a falling feather,
is trying to tell us?
Realization drops like an anvil upon the egg of a quail
This siren song is calling westward,
Offering both salvation and damnation,
The Spirit of the West Herself calls,
Rattling one's teeth with her percussive thunder,
Blinding with the flashes of her lightning,
Strobe-like in both aspects,
For with every booming step she draws closer,
and the music grows louder.
Is that her steps now?
Or the thundering of your heart in your chest?
She whispers upon the howling winds,
Promising nothing that is in your control to change,
Only that her domain is a hard and still wild place.
It is everything you feel the desire in this moment,
An escape from this quicksand you have found yourself in,
Toward the unknown yet the sought after.
What shall happen next,
That is the chapter that we'd have to write,
For good or ill,
A sign or an omen.
With a thundering of your own,
With the ground shaking momentum of a thousand charging horses, I say!
Drive forward with a fury of your own making,
Let your purpose be just and true!
And like she was never there,
The Spirit of the West disappears,
Her spectral like visage disappearing into the wall,
The vision broken,
Leaving you once again in the quiet and dimly lit room.