If you turn the wrong way on a Glasgow street,
You might see a fine white hair, far too glossy to be real,
Float down from an apartment’s balcony and land in a puddle
But it does not sink. It hovers millimeters above the water’s surface
You are too lost in your drunken fancies and mundane worries to see
At night, across the fog-soaked moors,
If you are a restless sleeper and dream yourself awake,
You can hear hoof-beats like ancient drums,
The rhythm alien and enticing, filled with frenzy and ecstasy
You climb out the window, bare feet padding against the dewy grass
But there is nothing to find, only the endless night and endless wonder
In daylight, you pester your guide
“If they aren’t real, what did I hear last night?”
You say to his sharp and quiet eyes. He chuckles
And says “Probably just a horse escaped from a paddock.”
But when he spoke, you saw a smile appear that said
You are not wrong. I’ve heard it too. We all have.
So you keep watch in the moonless night
If you can stay awake for long enough
You know it is out there with its single spiral horn
There are no stars to show you what you want to see
You fall off the window ledge and land in the grasping mud
But as you look up into the sky, the black swallows the light inside
A taxi waits to take you back to your drab home
If you need a hand to get your bags
The driver doesn’t care and smokes a cigarette
Reality sets in, gray sweeps in, your mind wipes the colors away
But in the distance, you see a pearl-white mane, alien and enticing
You chase it, more unreal and alive than you have ever been
Faith is not just for religion.
Dreaming is not just for sleep.
Magic is not just for the naive.
Wonder is not just for the young.
In Scotland, the unicorn waits.
Poetry Overdose 