You ignorant child
Do you really think
You could tame something so wild?

That a dragon would bow
To a little light
On the head of a cow?

What makes your head full
Of such laughable lies
Such pure bull?

Moss
I'm sorry to tell you
Of a terrible loss.

Your mind is cracked
Or had you forgotten
Just what you lacked?

I watched down
From that tree when you fell
Your brain splattering on the ground.

Has losing that filled
Your head with such lies?
Will you ever be smart and strong willed?

Or will you forever
Have the mind of a fawn
Learning more never?

Tut tut, Moss.
Have you already forgotten
That I am the boss?

.
.
.


Go, jay.
You shall not again
Get in my way.

As I say, I repeat.
You will never
See me bow in defeat.

My tines will never adorn your crown
And you will never ever
See me bow down.


.
.
.

-and again off the jay went
His seed planted
Hoping his luck was not spent.-

The night around me shrouds
As I stare past mushrooms
Exuding little blue clouds

The babbling fountain spills
Water flowing over rocks
Never quite making it down grassy hills

Golden flecks have me mesmerized
Floating upward
Toward the starry skies

Within the dancing golden specks
I see pictures long since gone
Ones that perplex.

I see myself there
My crown, my face,
My black and white hair

Facing me is a dark cold wood
Would I intentionally travel there?
Not if I could.

And from this wood a dragon springs
A fearsome sapphire beast
Spreading its wings.

A maw opens wide to engulf me in flame
I nearly buckle in fear
Before I think of my name.

A broken circle it turns out not to be
Unfinished? No.
No mangled destiny.

It grows and it shines
Leather straps and gold plates replace
Those offset and saddening lines

A shield from the fire hot
Everything around me burns
But I do not.

It is soon that I notice them laying at my feet
The names of my friends
Safe from the heat.

The dragon backs away in fear
My voice resounding
“You are not welcome here!”

The dream ends
With me returning
To embrace my safe friends

I awake with a start
A quickened beating
My warmed heart

A dream to tell me the power I wield
No sword, no spear
Only a mighty shield

Not really as literal as my fantasy shows
A metaphor, a simile
You know how it goes.

My job here has not changed
No sorrows no death
My life has not rearranged.

Since the beginning I have known
This place, these friends
I will protect my home.

My name is their shield.

Upon the mossy outcrop
He lay there in the glade
Watching the water drop
Making ripples in the rain.

The sight of his symbol
Caught glinting in the pool
Got the stag to thinking
They'd played him for a fool.

He traced and traced again
Over the symbol with his eyes
Each line, each path, each curve
Where it's born and where it dies.

His name and destiny
Was Unfinished

With a gentle, quiet breath he scanned the area. Black eyes peer between tall grasses, amber at the edge of his vision. The bright sun obscured yet more of his eyesight, transforming everything to his left into silhouettes. The coronas those black shapes had were too much to look into, so he merely listened that way. Listening did not mean much in the Birch Wood, where even the grasses tried to talk over one another, but he tried anyway.

The black and white bulk of the stag lay low to the ground, soaking in the morning rays. He refused to move from where he had bedded down for the night until the sun was far enough overhead that he could see the new creatures that swarmed this place. The herbivores were confusing. It was as if a great amount of them had come all at once. Where would the deer find food with all of them here? What were they even? Moss did not know. They just made him nervous. Maybe, one day in the far future he would be comfortable around them. Moss grunted at the thought. He was unable to see that happening yet.

Moss rested his chin on the packed grasses, leaning a bit to one side so as to allow his neck a break from the velveted antlers that rose from his head. A sigh blew pollen from the plants. The golden specks dazzled his eyes briefly, reminding him what this place was truly about. It settled his soul. Just as long as some deer remained, there would still be peace here.

A time later Moss rose, his snowcapped shoulders the first of him to appear above the grasses. Quietly and effortlessly he moved off in search of some way to start the day.

Perhaps he might pray first.

We spend the time as we have it, sitting quietly. Everlasting days stretch before us, endless like the perfect circle of horizon. We know that line is complete even if hills or tree trunks hide bits and pieces. And as I stare out at that thin line, I wonder how it is that we still have to end if it does not.

If it does not.

For some creatures, the horizon will disappear from view for what seems like forever. For others, they spend time they don't possess trying in vain to reach it. We'll never hold 'Forever' in our mouths like water from the fountain of youth. Nothing like that exists...

Yet I spend my time here sitting quietly, as if it will come to me.

Maybe it will, one day. Who am I to know what is planned for my future? The stag chuckled here. Only the fickle and glorious Gods know what is planned for my soul. I could be just as endless as this place and not know it. The waters that I have been in before, I could lie to myself and call them a womb, who knows if I could have been swimming in Eternity? A God far away is the only one who knows what was in the pool in his garden.


An Eden that I exiled myself from, and for this place.







And you know what?















I'm glad I did.

Umm...

Sun shined. Was hurty.

Sleeped in big break-fast. Eated pretty flowers. Maybe I'll stay pretty that way?

Zoomed all over. Meeted lotsa other deer. Met red guy. Red guy yelled a lot and threw spell at Snail. Snail sneezed lots. Magic make Snail sneeze.

Runned away.


Big herd of fawns with no shiny sym-bol.

Tried to help big guy with no shiny look pretty. Big guy was NOT nice. Sneezed... gift poofed. Maybe magic make big guy sneeze too. Make Snail sneeze big.

See big guy fight with fawns. Got mad. Yelled at big guy. No listen to Snail. Got sad and runned to tell some shiny deer. Forget what Snail was gonna tell.

Found a comfy log. Rocks make good sleep spot.

Hi.

You're going to have to sneeze off the red pelt if you want spells. Nobody can cast spells on someone wearing it.

The day drew closer like a predator. It loomed, both as a celebration ahead and a large beast awaiting a meal.

His anniversary.

Sure, it was still weeks away. The meaning was still there.

In a few weeks, he'd have been in the forest for one year. It usually was a momentous occasion, filled with celebrating... a birthday. Moss wanted that, secretly, but it wasn't something he could have.

Not with the anniversary also being that of his death in his old world.


That was the day he killed not only himself, but the happiness of his friend the heron. He plummeted to earth like Icarus that day.





One year. A new chance that he took, and embraced.

The countdown starts.

http://moss-works.deviantart.com/

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