The edge of consciousness and the tree's shade,
The blond beast in the sun--it will abide
In our unconscious mind, where fears are made.
The hawk swings, soars above, just out of sight--
It's hiding in the gold-glare of the sun.
His shadow terrorizes, sends to flight
Ancestral fears that death kept at a run.
The serpent slithers, low on the dark ground--
He's venomous and hidden in the grass--
He creeps with crushing coils, won't make a sound--
He brings us fear that few could dare surpass.
Such fiery fears--our minds act as a flagon
To mix these fears and make of them a dragon.
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