Writing

What can be said
About the day's dread?
When the morning grows red
And the night has fled
The embers on the fire bed
Have since ceased their stead
The stars that the sky had spread
Now hide behind the red
Where only the brightest are embed
And give homage to the dead
The day now lies ahead
And the night slumbers in its stead
As words are now unsaid
Of nightmares widespread
That left tear and sweat shed
Perhaps the dreamcatcher can thread
A shield for such dreams mislead
So only pleasantries we be fed
Where adventure and beauty be wed
Let us ask the masters who have said
That the path taken could easily be tread
If only our patience and virtue be bled
So that our terrors of night are behead
This is the way our destinies are thread
Hung with subtle care above the bed
So that we never sleep in fear and dread
The dreamcatcher guards us overhead

I was sitting with a group at the ruins when I wrote this, and began to wonder what the story of that place would be...

The Story of the Ruins

I want to write a story of these stones:
of the rooms they divided up, the walls they erected
the cells seperate from the world, where people
dreamed and slept, where the lonliness
of night hit them like a sudden bolt,
so strong I feel it like a phantom now --
of being in a room only big enough
for one bedding, one life,
surrounded by impassive stones,
all walled up in their own world.

I want to write a story
that their bodies carried them
over the threshhold, past the walls;
that they saw in one another the eyes
stained by tears like theirs, that they saw
their own faces in each-other, that
the thundering of their joy
sent the walls crumbling
and swallowed by the ground.

I want to write a story like that, where
today poppies grow
in the cracks of those forgotten walls.

((This has been another visit to Seed's Poetry Corner))

Can you see me? I move with the wind
My life support failed me; no different from the rest of the world
I rot and decay, and the worms lick my bones tenderly
A new generation sprouts in my womb of a corpse

No harm will come to you, save for disease, perhaps
I never wanted to hurt anyone, but alas, the rats
Feed on my flesh and spread their stench and parasites
Use me and use me until the very end, why don't you...

There are glittering, infested holes where my eyes once were
Yet I see all around me; does the soul possess a higher sight?
Perhaps I have no soul. Perhaps I am dreaming, perhaps I am not dead.
How I wish, how I wish I were not dead!

The children - they run in terror as nature's forces animate me
Why don't they see me for what I am? Even with a heartbeat
I am rotting, I am dead, and still no-one will love me? What harm can I bring?
Am I so disgusting? I thought myself beautiful, once...

Please, said the mocking pheasant
As the shackles tore and laughed, clink clank
The stone walls crumpled with mirth and sniggered
Leaving a shamed face hung in misery
As a mirror image stared back at him and grinned

It grinned, he saw, it smiled and jeered
Pleaded to make him blush and sought to break him
A soldier may not disobey an order, and though he
was no soldier, it was just the same
Authority overrides pride.

Wh-tshh! Searing, beautiful pain!
Broken.

Writing

MoonlitStar's blog
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[=crimson]It seems the magic of this forest is growing mischevious again.

It is funny that it should take an odd occurance such as this to entice me to write again. It has been some time, and there have been events worth notation.
Hnn... I fear my memory may be slipping. I can not place the events or times lately.

There have been a few reunions in these recent days. Faces I have not seen in easilly over a year have returned to common view. Bastilion had appeared briefly for a few words and some appreciated time and company. Archelius has returned once more from his nomadic travels, and made the decision to remain for a much longer stay. I have recently encountered the Priest as well. And of course, one who had not been seen since his most vulnerable days had returned from his own travels. Loki, you still must meet your brother.

Hnn. Of course, what is one of these writings without mentioning the enemy? Again his family is growing. How much longer until this forest's genetic pool is so consumed with their blood that all will be one another's sibling in a land much like the hives of the wasps?
Some time ago I noticed the soul of my enemy had been returned from Osias's captivity. Along with his soul, came those of a few more. One I do not know, and two within that blue rat.

Hnn... father, I know you would shun such a description of one of those you once encouraged me to embrace. Centuries have passed however, and the ways of does have long since changed. This one in particular no longer deserves the respect given to others.

Naturally, I felt compelled to finally break my silence with those abominations. I gave them 'regards' and traded a few words before battling my foe for what must have been the first time in perhaps one or two years. I would say it felt good to break from the tensions and caus bloodshed once more, but I soon found myself battling three on one as Wesker recieved backup support.
Such cowardice.

Xiar was starting to learn more about the forest as he slowly grew, mimicing the actions of the older stags he learned to throw spells at other deer. Enjoying it so much Xiar spent most of the day prancing around and throwing mask and antler spells at any deer that he thought might want to play too. Of course he didn't think at the time that some deer might like their antlers the way they are. Luckely he also learned that adults could return to the form they liked so he continued to play his little game of antler and mask tag. He enjoyed the new game so much that he even cast spells on deer that slept, giggling to himself at what would happen when they awoke.

~~~~~

:3 isn't he just a mistufus playful fawn???

Well where do the people go? They must go somewhere!
I see them in the mornings, I see them everywhere
I watch them trot along across the road without a care
Flashing red lamps, screaming birds and spinal cordal tear

I'm not afraid to die, but I used to be. Back in prison,
where you're someone's dog unless you fight them.
Even then you end up with a broken nose and a reputation.
I never wanted to be anything like the hordes.

Where does time go? It seems to desert me
Strands me on the highway and then leaves suddenly,
with no warning and no last traces to be seen
Oasis of water, false vision of dreams.

Give me a little mescaline, I used to say
It was my way, I howled, or none at all!
They'd let me in for a while, eventually
I'd sing, I'd sway, and finally, fall.

Where does life go? My bones feel as if they might snap.
I am a caged bird, never free, never able to fly
Even if the door was unlocked now, I'd still be trapped
My wings will stay broken 'til the day that I die.

Holly on the Old Oak 2011

Preface

Winter has come
You walk past the trees
Past their naked limbs
Over what was once a stone path
Now covered in snow
The hoofprints are freshly pressed
You follow beside them
Your feet leaving prints of their own
As if you had been walking together
But in truthful reality
You always have been walking together
You just don’t see them beside you

It is here that you find
An open place, a meeting ground
Where gatherings of the past had been
Where tale and truth had been passed down
You feel a chill in the breeze
And for a moment, you could have sworn
You heard your name spoken in the wind
Though you are here alone
You are being watched from afar
Always being protected
Your guardians are forever near
They will never abandon you

In the center of the place is a stone podium
And upon it is an old book
The words on the cover are faded,
But you can make out the words
Holly on the Old Oak
You gingerly open the old tome
And begin to read the first words
”Twelve stories told from the heart
Now presented to you, the reader, the one who came
Let the spirits of winter guide your soul
Let the lessons within be held true
And let the first tale begin…”

--------------

A very special thank you to Trigger_Mortis for the artwork!

[center]

[=15]Index

[url=http://endlessforest.org/communi

The Endless Forest

Dreamcatcher

The Lotus Returns

Seed's Poetry Corner: The Story of the Ruins

[ dead man on a hill ]

Memories...

[ kept ]

Strange...

Getting older

[ where does it go? ]

Holly on the Old Oak - Preface