the golden lotusi

there's a saying about that forest, across the river

there's a saying about that forest, across the river. like most sayings, it is fraught with exaggeration, myth, and weaved embellishments so surreal and unbelievable that it becomes truth.

this, is fact: the forest across the river at the base of the behemoth houses a small clan of dreams, a mythical wonderland strung with golden lanterns. the flowers there gleam only at night, when the bio-luminescence of their flora unfurl and spin. the water sing songs there when the dragons dance upon its surface, draw half-moons with their feet, let the bells of their silk jingle with their steps.

this, is also fact: no dragon who enters has ever come back.

perhaps they die there, alone, calling for help from their clans that are seemingly eons away. perhaps they leave there, and go on into the world in inspiration. or perhaps they stay there, in the world of glowing gold, afraid to leave its beauty.

some days, if you listen close enough, you can hear the singing of the water, of the matriarch, of each note that resonates quietly through the river as if intending to carry it into the rest of the labyrinth, and—

—what a sorrowful sound it makes!—

—what a happy tune it carries.