Passing of May

Here goes the hours
Perfumed by blossoms
Spring’s last dawn devoured

Here goes the days
When the sun and rains
Battle in afternoon skies

Here goes the times
When Winter’s tears
Decked the world in green

Here goes the moments
Flora now fleeing
The solstice draws ever closer

Farewell, fair May
Fair may you be well
May you be well and gone

Adue, May’s dew
Doing may cease
So cease doing and go

So long, long May
Longing may still bare
Forebear no more and away

Goodbye, good May
Good may come by and by
But by and by you must leave

How River Stole Rock’s Gold

Rock and River traveled upon the same road, one heading up and the other heading down, when they met one another by and by. Rock carried with him a bag full of gold and thought himself very clever. But River was cunning, and knew Rock’s hubris and so bowing low he spoke and said,

“Oh great Rock, son of Stone, father of Iron, where do you go this day?”

“Where I go is none of your business River! You, whose ancestry and progeny is so vilely mixed! Now let me pass, I am traveling down this road. You must give me the way.”

River smiled solemnly and answered, “Truly great words from such a noble son of Earth. I shall give thee the way. But hark, I have grown fat on these last few weeks of rain and cannot easily pass by. Mayhap if you moved to the side, I can pass on the other?”

Rock replied with curled lips, “Never! I am Rock, a Son of Earth, and I move for no one. I shall not be moved by the mere pleas of such a pathetic creature as you, River. Simply pass on my left.”

So River flowed on Rock’s left side, but truly as he had spoken, he was too large to pass on the left side. So once more he implored Rock,

“I cannot pass on your left side, perhaps if you moved a bit, there would be room to pass.”

But Rock was obstinate and would not move, and commanded instead that River pass on his right side. Again, River tried but Rock’s right side had less room then the left side. Again he pleaded to Rock,

“Please, noble Lord Rock, I too must go up this road and wish to pass you. But neither the left, nor the right, has enough room for me to pass by.” River implored.

“What matters that to me, where you go? Your kind mean nothing to me. If only you were more frigid and cold, you may have been ice, and at least had the solidness of stone. Then I could look you in the eye and have a small measure of respect for you. But instead you choose to be warm, letting all the rain that comes to you in, gathering all unto your wide banks. And now you have become so engorged by it that you cannot pass beside me. That is your own doing and own fault!” Rock declared curtly.

“It is true, I could have been more like you. However what’s done is done, and now, as you say, I cannot pass beside you. However, there is another way… though, no, you would not be able to bear it so I shall say no more of it.” River spoke coyly, turning his face from Rock as if in thought.

“What other way? Speak! There is nothing that the sons of Earth fear! There is nothing that can overcome the mighty Rock!” he boasted to the River.

“Well.” Answered River, “I could pass around and over you at the same time. Part of me would go on your left side and part on your right and part over you completely. However, you probably wouldn’t want to do that. What if you were caught in the current and rushed away to the sea? No, it is far too dangerous.”

“What! The audacity! I am Rock! I cannot be moved by mere puddles of water!” Rock fumed.

“It is fine. I understand that you are scared. It is okay, we will find another way.” River spoke with false remorse.

“Do not dare dishonor me anymore! Pass over and around me! Do it! I shall show you! I am not afraid of anything! I am Rock. I will not move.”

“Well, if you’re sure that’s what you want.” River answered meekly.

“Stop wasting time. I no longer wish to hear your irritating voice!” growled Rock.

Suddenly River grew to his full size, which he had kept hidden in a crack in the ground the whole time. He loomed as a giant over Rock, drawing back as a serpent would, before lunging towards Rock, who gripped the earth with all his might as the cascading waves rushed about him.

Rock’s entire world became shades of blues and greens and shadows, passing over and around him, dragging small hands across him, smoothing his bumpy and rigid form, making him smooth. Giggles and laughter echoed through the rushing torrent, as he heard River’s voice all around him.

“You call me vile for my lack of ancestry and progeny? That is because I supersede your simple minded labels. I come from my own progeny and birth my own ancestry. I am Ice and Rain and Snow and Steam and Mist and River all at the same time. I am Son of Water, and I am Water too. Today you learn that hubris comes at a price. And the lesson will cost you dearly.”

Rock felt his senses fading under the rushing waves. He was running our of air beneath the water, when the next instant, River was gone. Rock slowly turned and could make out the glittering light of the sun dancing on a far off ocean behind him. He looked and saw that his hideously humped, rigged, pock marked skin had been washed smooth and soft. Then he realized to his dismay that he was missing one of his bags of gold.

And that’s why to this day, River still carries a bit of gold he took from Rock and often leaves some of it behind when ever he sleeps in one of his sandy beds.

Sinlamim

Sinlamim

2 year old girl
Calls for her mother
While walking through rubble
Of what was once home

Buildings stay standing
There is no life left
Just the little girl crying
For her lost mother

Is this all worth it?
True loss of innocence.
What gain to be gotten?
Land? Oil? Disgrace.

Look in the mirror
Face the monster within
Precious life fading
Let all begin

So that no more cries
Of children for mothers
Echo through fields
Of glowing concrete

Alaykum As-Salamu
Shalom aleichem

The Northern Ireland Question by Desmond Egan

I don't normally post other people's poetry, but Desmond Egan is one of my poetic heroes (for his brilliant use of images and strong pacifist message). His poem is only two unrhymed couplets long, but its message is powerful. Try reading it slowly, out loud.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Northern Ireland Question
by Desmond Egan


Two wee girls
were playing [tag] near a car...

how many counties would you say
are worth their scattered fingers?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem was written around the time when the Irish poeple were voting on the Belfast Agreement, which would mark the end of almost 40 years of civil-ethno-terrorism, in which countless civilians were murdered and innumarable human rights violated, the reprecussions of which are still felt today. The whole Northern Ireland vs. Republic of Ireland conflict itself stems from the most stupid and insignificant root, namely whether or not Ireland should be considered a part of the UK or a unified Irish entity separate from the UK. There are some people in the 6 counties that make up Northern Ireland that think of themselves as Brittish (for social, historical, and ethnical reasons) and some that think themselves Irish (for the exact same reasons). They therefore believe that because of this unresolvable conflict of opinions, they should kill each other's children. Yeah, I agree with Egan, that if we are debasing human life to a currency, in any situation, we should closly evalute what we're buying with it, if its actually worth it.

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God." - Jesus Christ, God-Incarnate and Reedemer of Mankind.

Eurydice

For life was given to love and hold
Yet cast we away it daily, freely
But now we see the words of old

Men’s actions given strangely, meanly
And woman’s vice’s in pretty faces
Doth wrap as chains, cast so keenly

That drag the lover to unseen places
Two tormentors in eternal struggle
Fighting, wounding, running races

For with daggers sharp we did juggle
Thought we not that wounds would follow
As words and actions became so muddled

Yet on that night, in that hollow
Where danced you did by Phoebe’s light
When cursed adder’s venom did swallow

And you fell into the darkest night
In that moment did all fall away
My soul now penitent with all its might

I found no joy in the breaking of day
Open no flowers, sing no birds
Let no man come to me and say

“Why speak you these lamentful words”
I shall not allow them, will not listen
The air is smoke, the water foul curds

No more let dew or stars ever glisten
Let my poems no more speak of joy
To stop the sun ere he had risen

I find no pleasure with the girls and boys
All my companions fair now forsaken
And words pitter like lost little toys

My breath from my lungs is now taken
The lyre will no longer answer my call
My heart left with flotsam and bracken

Yet who comes here to lift my soul
This dark lord and lady of sorrow
To whom all go both humble and tall

“Hail, Hades, and Persephone Bride-Horror
Take me to shadehood and there let me cry
For ever and ever and not see a morrow

My song and my sadness remain lest I die”
And so I depart for the land of the shade
Where eternally I may sing and sigh

I pluck my lyre as I walk on paths unmade
To the gates of Hades full ashen and dust
Entering darkness to where I am bade

But the shades who stare with eyes of crust
Touch me not, but weep at the song
And the ferryman, old skeleton of rust

Demands no payment for the crossing long
And at the other side I find this land
Where weeping faces of other who were wronged

All point the road with tear wet hands
A road of slick wet tears and stones
All trickling with time’s hardest of sands

When finally I reach the throne of bones
Where sit the lord and lady of the dead
I sing my song of now being alone

And they even shed a tear for what’s said
And Persephone pale and heart ever hard
Has pity upon this poor poet’s head

“Hear, ye all, the words of this bard
For they have moved even Hell’s frigid queen
Now, listen Orpheus, your song now unmared

I grant thee the life of thy dream
But first leave this land of the wasted
Till then fair Eurydice must remain unseen

Once of the sun’s light she has tasted
Then may you turn and behold her again
Have patience and in your way be not hasted”

And so we departed death’s grey den
And walked back through the land of tears
And waded unharmed through Acheron’s fen

My heart now gladdened without fears
But lo as we approached dawn’s gate
What call picks up my music ears

For by some twist of horrid fate
My father’s voice hailed from behind
And my soul and heart could not be sate

And so I could not calm my mind
The greatest error of my short life
For just ere the sun’s light had shined

I turned, beheld my one time wife
A rotting corpse turned to smoke
Sucked back to Hell and all its strife

And the horrid shade my sin provoked
Stood leering with his twisted form
To my shadow whence from invoked

And I alone now lost and forlorn
Lie here upon the stranger’s beach
For the gate is hidden, and I am torn

And no way left for me to breach
Even in death’s unending shade
Her soul dissolved cannot be reached

So what’s left for this poet be made?
To travel lands far and unknown
There die and from the world to fade?

Or reaching Phrygian Cybele’s throne
Enclosed in secret wooden grove
Take Attesian oaths and live alone?

Or now turn from Juno and her Jove
Instead to follow Bacchus’ ways
With Eros and Himeros’ love

For Crete is so beautiful in summer days
Perhaps there Venus can be rejected
And forgotten remain all her ways

Or perhaps no way can be detected
To remain from cruel love’s touch
Pure, unspotted, and uninfected

For life was given to love and hold
Yet cast we away it daily, freely
But now we see the words of old

Men’s actions given strangely, meanly
And woman’s ways in pretty faces
Doth wrap as chains, cast so keenly

That raise the lover to unseen places
Either way remains one act for Orphean me
To sing this song for my Eurydice

Partially Sonnetonous Lament of Need

Need is such a foreign thing
To cause the mouth no song to sing
But stops the mouth and burns the heart
Consumes the mind, blocks the art

Desires do not close compare
They wif and wafe like fleeting air
But Need, foul Need is solid sure
Need, of concrete, ever endures

Desires and Need interwoven weave
The life and love and memories
Desires whispering loudest noise
Need the silent screaming choice

Need the ravenous wolven fiend
O’er shadowing in the deepest dreams
Need that consumes the entire earth
Groveling man to lowest worth

Desire passes, does not remain
Desire dying in glorious pain
Need the grey shade of eternity
Need that makes Desire flee

As long as Need remains grasping firm
Of life lessons no lesson be learned

Facing His Past

A laugh, a grin, a cheery smile
Grinning, laughing, joyous while
The sunny, happy, peppy face
Tries to keep the quickened pace
Wounds heal quickly, or so it seems
Hope moves on from broken dreams
Life bloom fresh and all is well
See the smile, can’t you tell?
Life is good, life is good
Life is good, at least it should
Apparently be so, so keep on lying
Give fallacy wings so it keeps flying
But wait something seems amiss
The wounds I find here on your wrist
Blood not fresh, the marks not new
This is not the wound she gave you
Dare you look into the night?
The deep things hidden out of sight?
What darkness lies upon your soul
What keeps you from ever being whole?
The lights go out, deeper we go
The world is dark, with a warm glow
You do not recognize where we are
The light fades in, a house, a car
The car pulls away, yet we remain
A small figure outside in the rain
Not even two years old yet he cries
As he follows the car with tear filled eyes

“Papa!”

The word too strong for you to bear
You look away, you do not dare
Face this wound, there’s too much pain
You cannot stand it, there’s too much pain
Is this the ever wounding knife
That hides so deep in all your strife
Is this the fountain of blood that was sealed
Though never touched, never healed
That now one single, simple phrase
Could bring about your end of days?
The voices won’t be silenced any more
Mixing with pain through the same door
And soon you realize that everything till now
Has been trying to answer who, what, how
Trying to earn the answer so desperately
“Papa, why didn’t you love me?”

Are We There Yet?

“Daddy! Are we there yet?!?” whined the 6 year old boy as he placed two chubby hands on the window, eyes wide at the cars passing by.

“We’re almost there. Just a little while more.” The father smiled as he looked into the rearview mirror.

The silver mini van wound along the neat rows of houses and trees. They turned onto a main street and gained speed, the signs and trees and parks passing faster. The sun slowly slipped behind a row of cumulous clouds, dipping the world in shadow.

“Are we there yet?” he asked sighing overtly.

“Just wait a bit more. Be patient.” The father answered as he turned onto another road.

They drove further on, gaining more speed, as the clouds gave a slow rumble of thunder. The gentle patter of large raindrops on concrete turned into a soft hush of cascading rain. The wipers on the window whined slightly as they whipped the rain off onto the wet road.

“How much longer do I have to wait! This is taking forever.” The boy groaned as he leaned back in his seat.

“We’re so close, and we’ve haven’t been driving for that long.” His father spoke gently.

“But its almost been a whole ten minutes!” the boy moaned as he traced raindrops along the window with his finger.

They drove further, faster along the freeway as the rain kept coming down harder. The car pulled off of the freeway and back onto the crisscross of roads and side streets. As they pulled up to a red turn signal, the father heard the boy cry out.

“Dad! Dad! Dad! The roads getting so full of water! We’re gonna be flooded away! We have to go!”

“Calm down, we’re still safe. Don’t worry. We’re gonna be fine.”

“You don’t understand!” he cried as he looked out on the rising water running past the car.

They sat at the red light, the son watching the water intently as the father kept an eye on his son and the red light. He knew they were safe, that they weren’t in any danger. But trying to explain that to his 6 year old son, that wouldn’t be easy.

“How long is this light gonna take!? Why are we still sitting here?”

“Patience. The light will change any second.” The father said as he watched the traffic speeding across the intersection.

As they sat there, the road seemed quiet in the pouring rain. The son looked from the waters to his father and then to the light and the road. There weren’t any cars. Maybe the light was broken. Maybe his father didn’t see the water. They should go, they should just drive, he thought.

Just then there was a screech of tires as a car full of unruly teenagers rushed through the intersection, wheels spinning wildly as their loud music reverberated throughout the road. The son caught his breathe, the father only smiled, as if he had seen it coming.

“Daddy, how much longer do we have to wait?” the son asked almost in tears. “We’ve been sitting here for soooo long.”

Just then the lights changed, the rain stopped, and the turn signal changed to green. They turned slowly and the son looked back. He saw the ocean that had threatened them just a few minutes before. And he realized it was nothing more than a puddle. And he saw his father smiling ever so slightly.

They drove on as the sun came back out and sparkled off the raindrops like a million diamonds. The air was fresher and clearer and the world felt new. The son saw a bluebird flying along the car, watched the wings and feathers so closely he didn’t notice the car stopping till the father said,

“Alright. We’re here.”

I See It. I Think I Do.

I see it. I think I do.
Barely.
Hovering on the very edges
Of Reality
Your hand. Your heart.
Your plan all along.
I think, I might, just barely
See it.
Caught a glimpse.
Of something divine.
Some kind of plan
Or purpose.
Touching. Breathing,
Barely there.
Hovering on the edges.
The edges of reality
And my life.
How You fashioned my heart
And set the time.
How You made the call
And called me in.
How You planned it all,
This is Your plan,
Isn’t it?
Was Your call, wasn’t it?
Why will not be asked
You planned
Your hands hovering
Barely touching
Your breath
Whispering desires in secret of
Night.
Sweetest night.
Enclosing night.
Night of nights when all was cool
And sweet and night
But now the sun has
Harshly shone
And I feel alone
But Your guiding hands
Still hover right there
Barely above
My life.
Shaping, forming,
Using all of this.
To make me more
Like You.
So hover on,
Breathe on
Touch on
Break on
Move on
Just be on
And in
And by
And with
And there
here
with
me
so
I
can
see

What Would Happen If A Tornado Suddenly Became Conscious?

Spinning, spinning, round and round
Colors before me, sight and sound
Faster, flying, feeling, breathing
Was is this feeling? This seething?

The sky above, the earth below
As everything around me faster goes
Houses, farms, roads, and fields
Everything torn before me yields

Running, running, the cars run away
Why will no one stay and play?
Is it me? Am I the reason they run?
Why do I repulse everyone?

What am I? Where am I right now?
Questions suddenly of who, what, how?
Energy failing, my mind begins to fade
How could it otherwise, of wind it’s made…

No time left to feel or think or live
No time left to apologies and freely give
No time left to ask silly question like why
No time… left… as I slow…ly… …. …

Monolith

A stone is immovable
Firm, and unshakable
Though the seasons my come
It will outlast all
A stone is untouchable
Strong and unbreakable
The years pass by
And yet it remains

Even when waters roar
And the flood rushes in
The stone remains steady
Still standing tall
Even when time buries it
And it sleeps beneath sand
It waits ever patiently
To resurface again

The stone is constant
It shall not be moved
It stands in memorial
Till the end of all days
Through fire and water
Through summer and winter
Through hatred and sorrow
It will outlast all

A stone is immovable
Firm, and unshakable
A stone is untouchable
Strong and unbreakable
It shall not be moved

Falling Sunbeam

So this poem is all about style, which cannot be seen here, so go to facebook to see a note in which it should actually look right. :D

Falling Sunbeam

F
A
L
L
I
N
G
.
.
.

.

.

Hits the ground

Breaks ap art u pon th e gro u nd
Seeps
Into
The
Cracks
D
R
I
Z
Z
L
E
Upon the wwwwwiiiiiiiiiiiiddddddeeee world
Saturatingeveryseemoftheearthwithdelightfullight
FLlooODding the world with energy
E N E R G Y
E n e r g y
energy
tr
i
c
k
l
e
s
into
the
pores of leaves
green
leaves
and warms the wooded heart
of the tree’s hidden roots
tucked away safely
at the root
of the
tree

The Valley Days

A misty valley. A gentle pool.
Running water. The birds sing soft.
In the shadow of the mountain.
The clouds aloft.

The morning sun colored
the mists. Silver gold.
The joy in the air. Laughing water.
The earth cannot hold.

Gold mist dances. The sun veil.
The day is bright and
beautiful. As mist and sun
go hand in hand.

But clouds came. Dark and cold.
Far they did appear.
Soon rain fell. The world crying.
Crying with fear.

The wind blew softly. A dying breath.
The world turned grey.
The mist fell upon the waters.
At the end of day.

Streaks of grey and pale yellow,
So pale was the air.
The rain-tears fell onward and
steady. Take care.

The sun set beyond the horizon.
United and far apart.
Night enveloped the world
again. Broken art.

Apologies for my Friend

“Pardon me if I have repeated myself
Pardon me but I do repeat
Pardon me if my mind moves not on
Of stone is made my feet

Excuse me if I still remain the same
Excuse me if I do not change
Excuse me but I seem to be stuck
Gone numb in all of my brains

Forgive me if my heart stays here
Forgive me if it stops its beat
Forgive my stagnant life
Of stone is made my feet

And sorry if I repeat myself
But I have nowhere to go
Sorry I didn’t want to be like this
Sorry, I just can’t let go”

This he said to me
And he had said it all before
So I ask apologies for him
He deserves so much more

On the Bus Again

Rumble rumble goes the wheels
As people speak of how they feel
The driver gruff and ever vex-ed
Glares at each of the us seat-ed

One woman cries with empty tears
Of hopes, and love, and horrid fears
The divorce has left her down and broken
He got the house, the car, and children

Another girl cries unto her mother
Her doll was taken by her brother
The mother slaps him for another reason
His baneful sin, manhood treason

A man sits talking on his phone
He’s in the far back, all alone
He gazes at the floor and sighs
Just got the news, his father died.

On comes a girl, sweet dear thing
Stumbling as her own song she sings
Almonded eyes and free giving smile
She sobers all for a little while

Then another couple walks in
Their lecherous doing and vile sin
They hide not from the world but lo
In the seat across, the bro and his ho

Druggies, grandmothers, forgotten faces
Traveling faster to pointless places
They search the world for a sliver of hope
Anything to stop the pain, to cope

O how I wish to gather you all in
Show you the love that washed away sin
Point the way to the old rugged cross
Where healing and joy will come from your loss

Questions of State

Where can the heavy hand feel
In the dark places where lurks dreams
Leaving things unnerved, unseen
Leaving things unspoken, undreamed

In the dark places where lurks dreams

Kettle calls with whistling scream
In the dark places where lurks dreams
Let things that sleep, sleep some more
Let things that lie, lie at the door

Meaning drifts in currents of numbness
Young and old and days of seasons
Searching hands in those dark places
Even now I cannot tell
Let things be
For a time

Though dark times advance upon
Outward faces that grin foolishly
Netherland floats away on a balloon
In the dark places where lurks dreams
Gathering dust with aged head bobbing
Heavy with sighs and stones
To let things… answer

Within, Without

Whithin, without
The Waves come crashing by
The seashore washes all things smooth
And pulls the sands deeper into the depths

Within, without
The tides advances on
Taking yesterday’s sandcastles
And pulls them deeper into the depths

Within, without
The gentle hush of the sea
As water and air and sand and moon
Pull us deeper into their depths

Within, without
The shells gleam in the light
As the fire dances here with us
And shows us deeper in the depths

Within, without
The mighty ocean rock still stands
Against the waves and their tidal pull
Won’t go deeper into the depths

Within, without
The storms that come will also pass
Upon the rock we sit and reflect
Going deeper into our depths

Weather of a May Afternoon

First the sun decides to shine
And warm the wintered earth
Then comes the wind, with foul
Caresses and makes the clouds fall in.
Shade and shadows drift lazily
Across the wide landscape pasture
The rains fall down, the air grows cool
And the sun is veiled from the earth
While puddles form on concrete
Then gone again are clouds and rain
The whispers of sunlight leaking down
Between the gaps and holes in clouds
And summer threatens to come once more
But hope not yet in this fair sun
Who burns the earth and grinds the rocks
Into powder. And yellow’s the green grass
For once again the wind does laugh
And bring the clouds of shadow
And once again the thunder drums
And once again the rains run rivers
And once again the air is ice
And once again winter strokes the world
For this is fickle May weather
Which beats and burns and drowns in one
A procession of seasons in an afternoon
All promised, yet gain we none.

Meeting at the Cross Roads

This is awkward. I did not expect to meet you here. I was simply taking a walk to get my mind off the events of the previous weeks. It’s a big city after all. What are the odds we’d meet each other and here of all places?

I am referring, of course, to the corner of Churchill and Loveless Avenues. The streetlights have already been lit, little gas flames fluttering against the wanton winds caresses. Here between the bakery, the old church, the small bookseller’s, and the iron fenced park with its paths that all converge on the cemetery at its heart. Why did I have to meet you here?

Its not that I dislike your company. Not at all. Quite the opposite really. But the pain is still too fresh. What should I say? We have both seen each other, both regretted seeing each other, both want to run from the other, and yet even now we both move towards each other both wearing false smiles. I shall simply say good evening. Even though it is neither good anymore, nor evening yet. The sunset still gilds the windows of the bakery with golden light.

We are talking even though we don’t want to. We are both standing awkwardly in the center of the roads. We talk about the upcoming summer. About how wretched May weather can be. We both begin to move towards the bakery, there are small wrought iron seats and tables before it. We both sit. We both talk. We both break a piece of the bread that I bought.

The church bells ring. The stained glass coloring the sidewalk of the Avenue. A flock of sparrows take off from the tower, circle, singing praises of joy and epithalamiums to the heavens. We rise with the birds, and walk across the roads. You pause. You gaze towards the church. I know what you’re thinking. You know I agree. But its too late. The evening has come. The sun had set. It rises every morning, you remind me. I cannot argue against nature. I do not want to.

We are still paused. The booksellers lights go out, the door is locked for the evening. No books will sell this evening. The old, worn tomes of yesterday’s loves, deaths, defeats, victories, and sorrows in all. They sit and gather dust as the readers play with their teardrops on the parchment pages. You break my silent tirade. You ask me what I think. Of what?

I know what. Maybe I do, what do you mean? I am being cruel now. When are we not cruel? I am pushing you away. “I” am pushing you away? We both push and pull at the same door, yet neither of us dare use the keys we have been given. No, you say, I am the only one who has a key, you do not.

Here, in the shade of dusk, the columns of the avenues’ many lamppost, like the altar candles, glow with soft, gold, halos. You stand there, and I stand here. And yet we are both the center of the crossroads. A light behind a tree casts a veil of flecked shadows between us, a screen neither of us can pass. The slow hymns of the Mass begins in sorrowful voices. This is as good a time as any, I decide.

“There is something I must tell you. You will not understand part of it, but part of that part you will actually understand. Yet your mind will not allow you to accept it. I do not come looking for your acceptance anymore. But I do need to ask for something else. Your forgiveness.”

We hear the prayers begin behind us. Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I have sinned against them all. I have sinned against you. And I have sinned against the one I met tonight at this crossroads. It has been too long since my last confession.

“I am truly sorry. I cannot tell you all, for my heart cannot bare it. I am sorry that time cannot be turned forward and back. I am sorry that words cannot be swallowed or spoken. I am sorry that the night is black and the sun is bright and the world is full of people. I am sorry that your heart is as it is. I am sorry that mine is as it was. I am sorry that I met you this evening. And I am sorry that the sun has now set.”

You bid farewell. I bid Adue. You walk along the path, down Churchill Avenue, with its trees and bookstores, and bakeries. You walk down the cobblestone streets towards the home waiting for you there. I stand and deliberate. Which way shall I go?

The church bells ring again. The voices have stopped. The windows of all are dark. Only the flames of lamps remain, as stars suspended in ink black night. The road that leads me back where I came from. The road that leads me to the sea. The road that follows you, follows more pain. And the road that goes onward alone.

And then there is the park. The neat clipped park, with neat little paths, and neat little benches, and neat little tombstones. The park without glaring lamppost lights or hard cobblestone streets. The park with soft beds of sweet earth and the heart of the world as my pillow. The church bells ring again. Which way will I go?

Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat,
Et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo ab,
Omni vinculo excommunicationis et interdicti,
In quantum possum et tu indiges.
Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis,
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.
Amen.

Quintial Metaphorium

Quintial Metaphorium

The Flyingbut Butterfly
Dancing butterfly
Teasing as she comes and goes
Who may catch the wind?

The Confused Eve
May blossoms so strange
For Sunlight waxes and wanes
While Moonlight stays fixed

The Daggered Knife
Dagger hangs from silk
Pressing in towards my heart
When the wound is bound

Durge Song
Raven pecking eyes
Carries off sapphire friendship
Opening old tombs

Friended Acquaintanship
Lauding Hermos Mal
Eclipsed burning heavens now
When high thing fall low

Red Stains

Single, Red, Carnation
In a cup of glass
Wilted petals in the water
Turn to murky, scummy, red

Apollo sips this brew
Each ride the level drops
Water gone, caked scum remains
Red stains upon the glass

Will I daily add more water,
Draw from yesterday’s deep well
And let waters ever fester
With vile, undrinkable pollutants?

Shall I let Apollo drink,
Drink deep and take his fill
Letting all turn to crustedness
Hardened upon the walls?

Must I discard the wilted flower
Pour out my grievous flow
Till no single drop of red liquor
Stains these walls or Apollo’s lips

Yet more rain from cloudy eyes
Must then bless this crystal vial
Till no trace of red remains
Even washing memory

Arabica

Ahh.
The sweet ambrosia of life
Nectar dripping subtly
From the fingers of Venus
All that is good
And sweet
And strong
In the world
Plucked from Gaea’s
Dark rich soil
Filled with Hyperion’s
Fiery light
Drunk on Pontus’
Sweet hidden streams
Picked by angel hands
Of purest marble
A single, precious seed
Embodiment of Nature herself
Pressed and broken
Ground into the dust
Burnt and drowned
In fire, water, and air
And yet
As when you were born
Elements in unity
Now in your horrid death
The cosmos is reborn
Your resurrection brings
Blessing unto mankind
Upon you daily we build
All our plans and industry
Civilization rests
Upon your continuing death
So live, sweet Arabica,
Live and grow strong
Die, gentle Arabica,
Die and die each day
Let us feast upon your nectar
Upon the sweetness of your death
For when you are reincarnated
You are our divine ambrosia
And fleeting fountain of youth

WoL: Part 7 - The Night

Waves of Love
Part 7:
The Night

Regeus walked along the cool stone path, his bare feet soaking in the smoothness of the stone as he seemed to float, dazed, in the warm night air. The stars all twinkled overhead in the violet sky, a large, pale moon gleaming overhead. The city had fallen away to rolling hills of deep green grass as far as the eye could see. Regeus stopped. He listened. There was absolute silence. He felt a tear snake down his cheek, reached to wipe it away, but his arms were too heavy… heavy like his chest… like his heart. He felt the weight grow too large, falling to his knees, tears pouring from his face. All he could do was bow his head and let the tears come. His eyes snapped open in the darkness of his room, his hand wiping sweat from his brow. After taking a deep breath, Regeus rolled over and went back to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Tycus walked along the street, the soft glow of the lanterns casting faint yellow light around the large fountain in the middle of the square. The light fell on Sealia’s hair, finding golden veins that fell in curls on her back. They were sitting on the edge of the fountain, the soft gurgling lullaby of the water behind them as they watched the stars. Between them were a basket that he had brought.

“Well, are we ready?” she asked turning and flashing a smile that made his very heart melt.

“Let go.” He said, taking her hand and pulling her along a small side path.

They walked up a side street, past a row of tall houses, and came to a flight of stairs carved in the wall. They walked up the stairs which curved back to the tall houses, until they came to very top of the house. There, a narrow bridge connect the rooftop to another. Both were laughing as they ran precariously across it to the next rooftop.

From there, he led her to a ladder propped up against the side that led to a taller house. On and on they went, ever inward, ever upward, until finally they had come to the great wall of the library. Here, Tycus pulled several layers of thickly grown ivy aside to reveal a black, wrought iron ladder. Sealia went up and he came after her with the basket.

They climbed in the green tunnel of ivy for a while, and then the next moment they were out, out in the sky, on top of the massive turquoise dome, overlooking the city. Faint, silver clouds wisped across the deep, velvet sky, where single silver stars shone like diamonds.

“Tycus.” Sealia smiled, turning to him, “Its wonderful.”

“Thanks.” He smiled as he pulled a blanket out of the basket, “I thought we could have a picnic up here.”

Soon they were both sitting on the soft, woolen blanket, the bread and cheese on one side, the spiced wine on the other side. Sealia laughed as Tycus went on and on about his encounter with Orpheus at the beach. He smiled, loving her laugh, her voice when she spoke. His heart was beating fast, and his hands were shaking, and he desperately hoped she didn’t notice.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Regeus was sleeping in his bed. The room gazed at him with vacant eyes, while shade and shadows slithered around the bed posts. Regeus knew they were there. He saw them slithering along the floor, winding around the legs of the bed, slowly ever slowly, creeping up the sheets. But he couldn’t wake up, his eyes wouldn’t open, his hands wouldn’t move. They came closer, began wrapping around his arms and legs, a putrid scent of brackish water all around him. Then from within the shade he saw a face, a face that seemed strangely familiar. The hand of the face reached forward and touched his forehead. Immediately everything went darker than it had already been.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Sealia was enjoying the evening with Tycus, as she watched him go on and on about his voyages and his poems and his love for wine. He was so adorable the way his hands shook with nervousness, and how he was desperately trying to hide the fact. His face was constantly blushing, and he made more than a few awkward comments that caused him to turn even redder.

But he would get over that. After a little while, he would grow comfortable around her, and he would let his guard down. She smiled inwardly as she thought of what it would be like spending the rest of her life with Tycus. The night was warm and sweet and the whole time as they were speaking, they were moving closer and closer. Finally she could feel his warm breath when he spoke. He had become visibly more nervous.

The talking stopped, they were simply there, staring into each other’s eyes. His were dark, mysteries awaiting there. It was his mysterious ways which had first intrgued her. Now staring into those deep pools of mystery she was filled with a longing to dive into them, search out his thoughts for herself. He swallowed hard and leaned forward a bit more, slightly pressing his lips to hers, then pulled away quickly, as if he had done something wrong.

She smiled. He blushed. She smiled more and he smiled too. Then, as he leaned in again to kiss her once more, they suddenly heard a commotion behind her. Turning Sealia gazed across the library dome to the glass and gold dome across the way from them. The royal palace. Lights were flickering as torch bearers and servants were running back and forth. Shouts and cries filled the night.

“What’s going on?” asked Tycus worriedly.

“Nothing. Nothing the Archduke couldn’t handle at least.” She turned looking away, the shouts still filling her ears.

“Maybe we should go see. The Duke was the one who introduced us after all, and he’s been my patron this whole time. Come on.” Tycus said as he quickly packed everything up.

Sealia sighed, closed her eyes and said, “Fine. Here, hold on to me.”

Tycus blushed as placed his arms around Sealia’s neck. The next moment golden feathers ballooned out of her, expanding into giant wings as a song burst from her mouth. She spread her large wings and soared on the wind currents across to the other dome, circling once before landing in the plaza before the main door. Her feathers all retracted and she brushed herself off.

“Alright, let’s see whats the matter.”

“Lady Lia!” called one of the servant girls who had attended her before, “Come quickly! It’s the Duke!”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Regeus lay completely still, vines wrapped around his whole body. He tried to move but each time he did the vines tightened their hold. Then they began to slither closer to his head. He realized they weren’t vines, they were tentacles. Looking through the murky darkness he saw a single spiraling shell, from where they were all coming from. In the darkness, all was silent, and a sickening sense of lack of air was all around him. He tried to scream and water filled his mouth.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Lia, Tycus, I’m glad you’re both here.” The Archduke said as they entered.

There was a large crowd of servants and guest bustling about Regeus’ bed. He lay on the coveres, deathly still. His face was pale and covered in sweat. At first Sealia couldn’t make out any breathing until he suddenly gasped for breathe, took a few hard breathes and then went still again. Persephone was at his side, bathing his forehead with a cold towel.

“Can’t you heal? Isn’t your seal suppose to protect your family from disease?” asked Sealia trying to ignore the pang or worry that had sprung up.

“That is why I am worried, child.” The Archduke said with a look she had never seen before, concern, lack of control. “This is done by a power greater than mine. I am attempting to undo it even now, though I may need you to lend me your voice.”

Sealia looked on Persephone’s pleading face, the Archduke’s worried eyes, and then on Regeus who was still not breathing. She nodded her head.

The Archduke spread his wide robed arms and immediately a line of light began spreading on the wooden floor from each arm, forming a circle the encompassed the entire bed, with Sealia, Tycus, and Persephone in it. The Archduke spoke a single word in an untelligible tongue, and the family seal appeared in glowing ruins within the circle. Regeus did not stir, not even to breathe.

Persephone held her hands together as if praying, tears flowing from her eyes, as she gripped a pendant around her neck and began reciting something under her breath. The entire circle of light changed from white to intense blue light, shining brightly and creeping up the sides of the bed. The room was shaking, the servants all falling back in fear, many prostrate on the floor.

Regeus stirred a bit, took a breath, and was quiet again. The Archduke was straining, perspiration on his face as his whole frame shook. He spoke through clenched teeth, “You … will… not… take my son… from me! No!... No! …. Sing Lia! Sing!”

Lia stood there in the circle, eyes fixed on Regeus. In her heart, a hurricane of emotions raged, and she felt both anger and fear surface. But then she heard the sound of a lyre being plucked beside her. Looking on Tycus and his determination, she felt all her anger change to pity. She felt compassion enter her heart again, and she began to sing.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Regeus saw the face of the octopus seem to grin almost with wicked pleasure, when he heard it. A voice, cool and clear, it sand across the dark emptiness. The voice of an angel, singing words that made his heart melt and breath fill his lungs again. The tentacles began to glow with a golden light and melt away before the power of the voice.

Regeus pulled free from the tentacles and began swimming through the inky black water towards the sound of the voice coming from the surface. He kicked harder as he saw the golden light sparking above the surface above him. He swam faster and faster until finally he broke through the surface, his world flooded by the golden light.

*~*~*~*~*~*

As the golden light that shone from Lia faded away, the room grew silent. All looked with expectancy towards the bed. The Duke shuddered and then coughed and began breathing again, all clapping and cheering when they saw that he lived. The nurses immediately shushed everyone and directed them out of the room. Persephone took the basin of water out, and the Archduke gave Lia a look that said, “thank you” before limping out of the room weakly, leaning on his staff.

“You did it Sealia.” Tycus said smiling, hugging her around her waist. “Come on, lets go.”

“Just one more thing I have to do.” She walked over to where Regeus was still lying asleep, and spoke softly into his ear, “Regeus, I forgive you. I guess we are no longer enemies. Maybe we can even be friends again. Someday. We’ll see.”

She walked out of the room with a slightly confused Tycus. No one saw the single tear run down Regeus’ cheek.

A Poem for Graduation

Do you hear it, do you hear it
The cheering, clapping crowd
Fours years down to one moment
This is what it's all about

Do you see it, do you see it
The wide and open door
Opportunity goes before you
And glory follows even more

Do you taste it, do you taste it
That’s the taste of victory
Savor it today while you may
Enjoy the wings of being free

Do you feel it, do you feel it
The sweet sigh of release
Coupled with anticipation
This strange excited peace

It is over, it’s done and over
Look behind you and have a laugh
Then close that door, pick up your wreath
And set out on life’s new path.

Not Enough Salt

Early morning. Burning eyes. Stale taste on my tongue. Hair matted on one side of my curly head. In a few years I’ll straighten and style my hair, like I gelled and styled it when I was younger. But right now I will simply place a hat on my head and head out. Today I’m skipping school for “religious reasons” a fancy way of saying that I’m going to volunteer at my church’s large youth conference because there are so few people willing to do it that they need every able bodies 16 year old they can get.
It takes 23 minutes to get from my house in Beaverton to the church on Rocky Butte; we take Burnside to Sandy to Fremont, a virtual tour of Portland. Everything is run down, and “shabby” as my mother would call it. She calls many American things shabby, perhaps because things here are shabby compared to her home, in France. But then again, she doesn’t say it in a derogatory way. She simply states the fact. The stores along Sandy are all shabby and rundown.
The church is… different looking. You have the ultra modern looking domes on one side, a large open grassy field with a classic white steeple-and-all church (affectionately known as the chapel) on the other side, and then on the hillside behind it there are the Bible College and its dorms, a former military base that still looks architecturally militant, were it not for the couple of metro guys lounging about in their skinny jeans and scarves. Yeah, real militant.
I walked into the church, where just the previous night we had difficulty squeezing everyone into the lobby. I imagine I can still smell the musky, over powering smell of thousands of colognes, perfumes, deodorants, breath mints, and sweat. But when I take a deep whiff, all I really smell is the odor of coffee coming from the café. A few steps later I bound up the stairs to the lounge, taking two turquoise carpeted stairs at a time. The brightly colored “staff lounge” looks like a rainbow vomited on the walls. I scan the people present and yawn unintentionally.
That’s when I saw them. One was sleeping on the couch, his drink still in his hand, inching towards a nice spill on his pants. The other looked up guiltily as if he’d been caught cheating on a test. I walked over and sat down with the whine of springs in the cheap cough. I quickly took the cup out of the sleeping guy’s hand and began making small talk. All the while, I was nudging the sleeper enough to wake him up. This was gonna be fun.
We talked for a bit about the previous night, about the injuries to property and person that was sustained by the madly rushing people at the opening of the sanctuary doors. All the while my brain was churning, thinking, planning. I had figured out what was going on the second I has stepped in the door. Now I needed to clinch the deal.
I offer James his drink back. We talk and as we do, I explain that it was Jean who was actually about to take it from his hand, I just sat down before he could do it. I know that’s no the truth. Jean knows its not the truth. But this will be a better lesson for him then me simply calling him out and having him become all defensive. So as he mumbled a reply and begins to redden, we all make our way over to get some breakfast. I talk to Mollie, she’s one of the heads over the food, who I took the time to meet last night. That comes in handy now, as she heats a griddle just for us, to get us some better breakfast.


****************************************************************************

Basically the same story but from a different perspective. :D

The Cup of Trembling

Your hand reaches out to swat at the dusty “snooze” button on the old clock as the beeping fills the quiet room. Straining to get it, you finally open your eyes and peer around at the pre-sunrise blue light that cascades through the half open blinds of your room. Groaning you roll out of bed, fumbling through the scattered clothes to reach the plug. You see the square, red glowing numbers right before they blip away: 6:03 am.

Suddenly the time hits home. You slept in. You have to get ready. You’re late. Rushing to the bathroom, you think twice and decide to forgo the shower, opting for a fresh shirt, a smear of deodorant, and your jeans from last night. Four hours of sleep are not enough for a growing fifteen year old boy. But you have to leave right now, no time to meditate on sleep or lack thereof.

A few minutes later and clean, manicured, suburban Beaverton falls away to miles of weaving, snaking highway. You catch a glimpse of the sunrising through the clouds, beams hitting the pink windowed Bancorp building just right. But there’s no time to enjoy the scenery. You’re late. The freeway flows like tributaries of a river into I-84 and you speed along till you reach the right exit. Northeast Portland is dirtier, dustier, older feeling with narrow streets meant more for horse drawn buggies than for the Ford F150 rumbling along them. But finally you make it, and with time to spare. Tired as you are, you have arrived for day two of Generation Unleashed.

Every year for the past 14 years the church has been hosting the youth conference, now one of the largest on the West Coast. What started out with only 200 people has now grown to nearly 9,000 people attending the three day event. As you pull into the parking lot of the church, you see several rows already filled with cars. But they aren’t here to enjoy the conference. Like you, they are here to make it happen. At least, you think to yourself, some of them are here to make it happen.

Of the roughly 120 people that volunteer at the conference, almost two thirds of them are Portland Bible College students. They volunteer in order to get enough community service hours and church service hours in order to graduate. Since almost all of them live on campus, they don’t have to rush or get there early. In fact, they won’t be up for another 45 minutes, you think with disgust. They aren’t like the core group, the other third, about 40 people who volunteer, not for their own selfish, educational reasons, but because they believe that the conference can change people’s lives. That would be you, you think, getting out of the truck and walking towards the church.

The church building is odd, you realize, while walking towards the row of glass doors that lead to the lobby. Two round, domes that are located on Rocky Butte, situated perfectly where they can be seen by all who are driving from Portland International Airport, they were once white, but after the umpteenth inquiry about what scientific experiment was being carried on up there, they were painted a tanish color instead. Inside, a turquoise carpet spills across the large lobby which, just a few hours ago, was packed with 4,692 hot, sweaty, bodies waiting to get in the doors of the main auditorium. But as you walk towards the doors of the main auditorium, you turn to the right instead, running up a flight of stairs and turning right to the “staff lounge”.

The staff lounge is nothing more than a children’s ministry room that’s been emptied of its play structures and toys, and filled with a couple of couches in one corner and several tables in the middle, surrounded by metal foldout chairs. The room itself is odd, the bright primary colored wall on the right side curving downward; it is after all the edge of one of the domes. At the other end, rectangular tables laden heavy with sustenance (e.g. bagels, cream cheese, fruit, and donuts) are lined with cold, unused griddles. Later on, you think to yourself, they will be turned on and barely salted eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and English muffins, cut and buttered, will be sizzling on them. Later… when the Bible College students are here to enjoy them, you shake your head reprovingly. Taking a cup of too strong coffee you survey the sickeningly bright room for a place to sit. The hard, cold, foldout chairs do look inviting, but you opt instead for one of the couches in the corner.

You would not have noticed him (you have barely registered that there were other people in the room) were it not for the cup. He is slouched on the other couch, superman baseball cap pulled over his face, breathing deeply and steadily, obviously asleep. His right hand is on the armrest, and in his hand is a cup of juice. And as he is sleeping, his hand (with the cup!) is slowly sliding down the armrest.

You begin to panic. Your immediate thought is that you should do something, that if you were him you’d want someone to stop you from drenching yourself in juice. It’s the right thing to do. But you’re a socially awkward homeschooler. You are panicking now. Do you try to wake him? You don’t even know him. The cup slides closer to the edge. Maybe just take the cup? But what if he is awake. How embarrassing would that be. The cup slides more. You look around to see if anyone else sees the cup, if anyone else will take it. No one else even notices you two. What if… what if you just leave? What if you walk over to the table, pretend you didn’t see the cup? Let him spill on himself. The cup is almost at the edge. No, you should do something. But it’s his own fault for falling asleep, he should know better, you begin to reason out why you should walk away. And the cup is at the edge now.

With your heart pounding like a drum, its decision time. You can’t be sitting here when it happens. Either stop it or stand up, you think. Then as if by some miracle, the door across from you opens and a tall, skinny teen around your age walks in and plops down on the seat next to you. He yawns, and is about to comment on something when he notices the cup too and quickly picks it out of the sleeper’s hand.

“Uh-oh. That would have been bad.” Tall-skinny says as he scans the room, “Wow, not a lot of people here yet.”

“Nope.” You say, still trying to recover from your moral dilemma. “It went pretty late last night.”

“Yeah. Last night was crazy.” He says as he yawns again, stretching with the cup still in his hand, “I heard someone else got trampled when they opened the doors.”

“Yeah, they broke their collar bone. It’s pretty rough being a door greeter.” You comment dryly, you stomach feeling sick and leaden.

“Shoot, man. That’s fer sure.” Says the sleeper as he slowly sits up and fixes his baseball cap, apparently woken by your talk. “I was one last night. They rushed the doors before we had ‘em open all the way. The poor people at the front carried by the wave of the crowd were smashed into the doors, slamming the doors against the walls and breaking the hinges on one, right off the frame.”

“Wow. No wonder you’re exhausted. By the way, here’s your drink back. You almost spilled it on yourself when you fell asleep.” Tall and skinny hands the cup to the sleeper. “I’m Tim by the way.”

“James.” He answers, “Thanks, but that wouldn’t be the first time. At least this time wouldn’t have been hot coffee.”

“Well, no need to thank me. Actually, I jumped in right as this guy was about to grab it.” Tim smiles as he motions to you, “I think we may have met yesterday but I forgot your name.”

“Jean.” you say, trying hard not to blush from the guilt of his statement. You’re still not sure what you would have done.

Little did the anyone of you three know that in that awkward conversation would be born a friendship that would outlast many trials, tribulations, fights, and even that one girl. Later that night, as you sit with Tim and James in the main auditorium, during the last session, you try to ignore the convicting parts of the message about not judging (especially those Bible College students) and try instead to focus on the verse of the night:

“A friend with many friends must shew himself friendly, but there is another kind of friend who sticketh closer than a brother.” Proverbs 18:24

**********************************************************************

Just a short little thing I wrote for a class about my first time meeting James and Tim. Most of the facts and figures in it really did happen, and thats what makes the story, in my book, all the funnier. To this day, I still am not sure what I would have ended up doing had Tim not walked in when he did. :)

Angelicus amorum meum

Angelicus amorum meum

Qua requis mea anglicus
Venio via sum secutus
Reperio oculum in noctis
Etiam periculim dominus

Where do you rest my angel?
I will find the way and follow
I will discover your eyes in the night
Even if dangers rule them

Multi hora diu ivitum
Locus semel iucundum
Pereo quod memorium
Et amis spes doleum

Many long hours I seek
The place that was once pleasant
I perish for that memory
And grieve for my lost hope

Habeo fugeo tui caelo
Ledo portas patefacio
Et genum amas oro
Quod si amas tum morto

Have you fled to the heavens?
I will pound open their gates
And beg on my knees for your love
For if you do not love me, I will die.

ex longus iter surgit magna amora
...vel facius malus, Deo?

Lot 19, Item 24 The Letter

The empty auction room was cool, and damp in the early morn hours. Bernard Heartford, curator of the library walked sorrowfully through the neat piles of his late master's literary possessions. Stacks of books, scrolls, parchments, manuscripts, maps, charts, illustrations, the list went on and on. He had meticulously categorized every one of his master's possessions, all falling into neat and tidy categories.

All except one thing.

Lot 19

Item # 24

The Letter

It was faded yellow parchment, single leaf, folded upon itself to create the illusion of an envelope. His master's seal was imprinted on wax that once was dark burgundy, but had now faded to deathly black. Scribbled in an elegant, yet tidy hand, were the ink dark words.

"My Greatest Secret"

That was all it said. There, in the last traces of dawn's milky light, Bernard felt his fingers quake, gently trying the edge of the paper. He knew what he should do. He should burn the letter, let its secret rest with his master. And yet. Yet his insatiable curiosity which had set him on the path of grand librarian now surfaced its ugly head and stayed his candled hand. As the golden light quivered, he broke the seal.

"Unto my oldest friend,

I knew when I wrote this note and marked it secret you would read it, Bernard. I left it betwixt the books for this very reason. But fret not, I am not displeased, I know it is in your nature. Forgive me for taking advantage of that.

What I am about to divulge to you, my friend, is the resting place of my Last Will and Testament. However, it will seem strange to you, the manner in which my estate will be entailed, so I wished to explain myself.

You know I have no children, for I never married. However, the reason for this is unknown, and surly soon, once my Will is enacted, it will raise an immense scandal. The large sum going to Miss Thatcher is for the years of good company, and I fear, secret love on her part. For she knew that my heart would not allow me to pursue her, and yet she remained a close and dear friend to the end.

It is strange how one can be the tormentor in one tale, and the tormented in another. For my dear, dear friend, I suffered torments. Some of which I never spoke of to you. There was another, a young girl who had captured my heart and very soul. One for whom I pined day and night, wrote books and books of sonnets, poems, love song, and the like. But ere I could pledge my love unto her, she took another.

How my heart broke then, shattered it seemed for all eternity. And yet, even in that pain, I still loved her. I tell you now, Bernard, that I still love her, even now, where ever I may be, God willing tis Heaven, that I love her. I was there at her wedding. I was there at their first child's christening. Every step of the way, I was there, and I loved her, and died a little every day.

And that is why I never pursued another. A single, true, pure, wholehearted love such as this does not die easily, you know. No woman could replace her in my eyes, and bring joy back into my life. So I buried myself in my works and travels and studies and teaching.

Therefore, you shall see that I have left half of my estate’s shares and fortune to her and her husband and their children. Make sure they are taken care of. The other half, including my house, the lands, the villa on Capri, and my entire literary collection I leave to... you. As once faithful steward be now ever faithful master. Finish my unfinished manuscripts if you dare the daunting task, otherwise burn them. All sales may go to further keep your estate.

I give all this, with one, simple request. Burn this letter when you are done. Burn it and cast the ashes of it into the sea. Never is a word of this to be spoke, never should you let her know of my love. My gift shall be the gift of an old, dear, childless and heirless friend. Nothing more.

Well, best regards to your wife and children, dear Bernard. I'm off to the here after, or I guess in my situation, the here and now. So long, and may your future be less bitter than my past.

Adue,

The Professor"

Bernard ran as fast as he could to the location specified at the bottom of the letter. He found the will and rushed back to the auction house before the bidding could begin. And standing alone in the action house again, he did his master's will, and placed the golden, flickering flame to the aged parchment. Cracking, black lines spread like spider webs across the paper, as yellow flames wreathed it, engulfing it, tendrils of grey smoke climbing heavenward. He let it fall to the ground; the last thing he could see as the fire took it was the word "love”.

WoL: Part 6 - The Bench

Waves of Love
Part 6:
The Bench

Gulls called as they soared on grey wings in the bright blue sky, large behemoths of stacked white cotton ball clouds slowly inching across the bright horizon behind them. The day promised to be another beautiful one in Alexandria. The city was awake and stirring with a million occupants all running back and forth in the early morning hours.

The city’s large domes stood guard over the bustling scene bellow, the large turquoise dome of the library, the gold and glass one of the royal palace, and the solid white marble of the temples to Neptune and Aphrodite. Lines of priest and priestess were marching from the Temples to the cliffs for the morning sacrifices. Several men ran and strained as they forced a pure, white stallion toward the cliff edge. In one movement, they all released their holds and the stallion thundered across the edge into the depths below, a worthy sacrifice to Neptune. Then several turtledoves and bunches of roses and anemones were thrown in afterward for Aphrodite.

The flower petals were caught up in the wind, flicked about the strong gusts from below the cliffs. A handful of red rose petals were carried along the cliffs, a zephyr catching them before they could strike the water. They blew further onward, the foaming sea beneath them. The gust blew them back towards the shoreline, where between the large pockmarked stone of deep brown, they came to rest in a small alcove, and settled on the soft, white sand.

There, rising up from the sand in the secret alcove, was a bench, carved from the solid ocean bedrock. It stood inside the tide line, so that during high tide it would be completely submerged, and the anemones and corals on its sides would bloom in color. And once the tide pulled out, the bench would return, glistening and gleaming in the sunlight.

Scallops and oysters had made their home upon it, lived upon, died upon it, and left their marks upon it. The entire bench was covered in spiral and veined indentations, with pearls gleaming dully between the layers of thick, calcified shells. It was because of this that it was know as the Pearl of the city. Today, an anxious Tycus made his way from the city to the pearl-bench, hoping that Sealia had gotten his message in the song that last night.

“Tycus?” he turned and saw her standing above him on one of the larger stones.

“Sealia. You came.” He said beaming.

“Yes, it took some help but I got your message.” She smiled shyly back at him.

“Well, I wanted to show you the city, from my point of view.” He smiled.

“I’d like that.” she said as she followed him from the rocks to the city.

The stone bench sat empty after they left. In the silence, all that could be heard was the lap of the waves against the sand, the call of some distant seabird, and the hushing song that always permeates the sea. After a few hours a figure walked out from between the rocks, stepping up, looking out over the bright greenish-blue waters. He gazed with sea blue eyes out over the mountains of waves.

Regeus sat down on the bench and simply gazed out over the waves. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t think about anything in particular. It was a numbing, relieving, mindless stare. He dared not face his mind, dared not look deeper at what was going on within himself. Years of pain had taught him how to ignore his heart, to keep smiling, and hope that the flood of emotions would settle down again.

But it wouldn’t. No matter how much he tried to stifle it, he knew it wouldn’t go away this time. Not until she left. But that brought more emotion and he had to swallow down the bile that came to his mouth. No. He wouldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t allow himself to get hurt anymore.

“Well that’s one way of dealing with it.” said Orpheus who had appeared next to him.

“Go away.” Regeus mumbled.

“Just to let you know, this is technically the ocean’s property, so your seals and family magic won’t help you here. This is my territory. Wine?” Orpheus offered.

“No thank you. I’m not thirsty.” Regeus said, still just staring out to the sea.

“Hmmm. And not hungry these days either, huh? What’s wrong? Still have no regrets?” Orpheus said, before yawing and laying back against the air itself.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Why don’t you go keep an eye on those two you set up. They might need you to help them decide how many children to have.” Regeus said, facing the demigod sourly.

“If you could only know the irony of your statement.” And a faint amused smile tugged at Orpheus’ face.

“I don’t want to know.” Regeus said getting up, taking a few steps before he stopped and turned to face Orpheus, “Not to throw a stick into your plans, but I have arranged accommodations for Tycus in the craftsman sector and for Lia in the temple quarter.”

“I don’t care.” Orpheus said through half lidded eyes, “You can do what you like. But if you thought being around her again was hard, wait until she leaves. Hehehe. You might find your plan backfiring.”

“I’ve had enough of this pointless conversation. I have important business to attend to at the palace.” Regeus said stomping away, his mood foul after his attempt to muddy Orpheus’ plans seemed to have failed.

Orpheus stretched out on the bench, enjoying the sun’s warmth, soaking it in as he drew the waters of the tide higher and higher towards himself, basking in the sea and the sunlight. He had lain like that for a few hours before he sat up on the bench, and looked towards the path. A few moments later Tycus and Lia walked down arm in arm, laughing.

“Well, I had a wonderful day.” Lia said, her face glowing warmly as it hadn’t in a long while.

“I did too.” Tycus said leaning forward and placing an awkward kiss on her cheek.

He was blushing furiously, and she smiled, thinking how adorable he was with his awkwardness around her. She waved and in a few moments was flying over the waves, her song bursting forth. The clouds that had been on the horizon parted at her voice, allowing the gloriously burning sunset to escape through, coating the world in orangy gold tones.

“Well, it seems you both had a good time.” Orpheus spoke, becoming visible again.

“Milord Orpheus.” Tycus said bowing stiffly.

“Come on, as much as I love being worshiped, you don’t have to do that EVERYTIME you see me.” Orpheus rolled his eyes as he spoke, sipping from his shell.

“Yes, milord. Um, well, yes, today was a wonderful day.” Tycus spoke, shuffling the burlap sack on his back.

“Come, sit down. Would you like some wine?” Orpheus spoke sonorously.

“Yes, thank you. I love wine. Which kind?” asked Tycus in his Carthagean accent.

“Are you a wine aficionado?” asked Orpheus with eyebrow raised.

“Well, I just enjoy a good cup. I can appreciate good wine, if that’s what you mean.” said Tycus with a smile. “In fact, here.”

And he pulled his burlap sack forth, emptying several flask and amphorae on the white sand. He picked through a few and then decided on an old, dusty amphora with some strange hieroglyphs on it.

“Here, I’ll get us some cups.” Orpheus said, almost with excitement, summoning a table with two cups of glass and silver, “I also have a special wine blend, made by the god of wine himself.”

“I would be honored to taste fair Bacchus’ handiwork.” Spoke Tycus eloquently as he allowed Orpheus to pour first.

They drank and Tycus had to agree the spiced wine was amazing. Orpheus sat back with a satisfied smirk, until Tycus poured the old amphora into their cups. The liquid was dark, purple, and smelled of cinnamon and juniper berries.

“This was made by a single farmer, who spent seven years crafting the perfect grapes for each amphora. He made twelve amphora, and this is one of the sacred twelve.”

Orpheus drank and instantly was amazed by the difference. The taste rivaled that of the god of wine’s own drink, even that of the ambrosia of the gods of Olympus. He savored the taste and was sorry when it was all gone.

“What do you think?” Tycus asked, his child like innocent face waiting with expectation for approval.

“It’s the best I’ve ever tasted. You have brilliant taste in wine. And in women.” Orpheus spoke smiling.

“Thank you.” He was silent for a moment, then spoke, “She is perfect. Too good for me.”

“Careful, no woman is perfect. No lover is perfect.” Orpheus said dryly.

“Well, if that’s true, she’s as close to perfect as they come. I feel so lucky that she would even notice me.” He spoke smiling at the air.

“Yes, it’s a mystery.” Answered Orpheus, elongating his tongue to lick at the bottom of the cup.

“I think. No, I know. She is the one.” he spoke breathlessly. “She is the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“If that’s what you want to do.” Orpheus simply said, placing his eye to the cup to see if there was still a trace left.

“Yes, and…” here he paused, the gears working in his mind. “I got it! I have a song! A song I’m going to go write for her! Forgive me, I have to go.”

“Well, I’ll keep the amphora for you…” but before Orpheus could finish Tycus had gathered it all in his sack and sprinted up the hill. “… or not.”

Orpheus sighed and walked towards the water, slowly melting into the waves and disappearing as a glowing blue light that flickered and floated in the waves as he moved along the coast. The bench sat silently in the cool moonlight of evening. No stars were visible, only the moon shone as a lonely lantern on the world below, illuminating the bench that was being swallowed by the ocean’s waves until they completely submerged it.

Too Much...

God
I humbly
Come before your throne
And ask
Not for
Anything anymore
There’s just too much
You know
Too much
And its all
Too much
For right now
I can’t go on
Its all too much
The pain
Too much
And the laughter
Is gone
Dear God
Too much
The pain and the song
The heart won’t go on
When the love has all gone
Too much
God
I know I was wrong
It was all too much
And too late it seems
To be enough
I followed your words
And now I see
That pain is coming
And killing me
You’re making me
Into a man
But the road is long
And the pain too much
Too much
Turn it down
Just a bit, just a tad
Cause it’s all too much
And I can’t go on

Bon Voyage

I stand here. You stand there. All that is between us is space and time. The dock’s wind brushes through it, catching the edges of your cream colored dress. Your gloved hands, like two delicate doves, fly down to straighten the wanton winds’ creases. As you look up from beneath the shade of your wide brimmed hat, my eyes catch yours.

Today the sea is a dull, ashen color that I really don’t care for, pale foam cresting the green-grey hills. The smell of salt, and fish, and coal smoke waft through the calls of gulls and chattering people. The great ocean liner stands here in the background, large smoke stacks like to ancient Grecian pillars rising heavenward. People are already walking up the gangplank, faces beaming in anticipation of the voyage.

But for now, all I see are your eyes. Your eyes which are so mysterious. Your eyes which like the weather and the wind, changes and dances and laughs at me. Your eyes whose color I can never catch; the deeper person behind the colored lenses always drawing me in. Drawing me in and drowning me beneath waves of passion and love. Those eyes that now sparkle with anticipation, and a tinge of fear. But exhilarating fear. Why can’t you read my eyes as I can read yours?

Your suitcases and trunks are all packed, ready for the voyage. I knew this day would come. I could see you longing for it. I saw the signs, heard the hints, caught the longing in your whole being. You really want to do this. You really want to go on this voyage. And I like to think that you’d like me to come along.

But I can’t. You think I won’t. But I can’t. My father has not given me leave. There are matters to be attended to. I won’t bother you with the details, I don’t want to burden you. My cares are mine to bare… for now. I must attend to my father’s business before I can be free to travel, before I can go on a voyage like you are embarking on now.

“Well Liza, you seem packed and ready.” I smile, even though I don’t want to.

“Yes! I’m so excited. All of my friends took the Grand Tour and kept telling me how amazing it was and how I was missing out. I’m glad I decided to take it as well. Even though originally I was somewhat apprehensive. But now I’m going and I’m glad I am.” Your smile is genuine; my heart breaks that it is genuine. Will you miss me at all?

“I was in a similar place. My own family wanted me to take the tour. But my father. Well he said that this wasn’t the best season for me to take this voyage. He suggested I wait a year or two. I’ve wanted to go since I was ten. I guess I can wait a few more years. But you go and enjoy it for the both of us.” Here I need to take a breath; otherwise my emotions will begin to surface. My true emotions. “Well, it seems that today’s weather will be perfect.”

“Oh yes! It’s simply marvelous! I can’t wait!” I just want you to be happy.

“Liza! It’s almost time to go!”

I don’t feel any particular way about Julian. A school friend, he seems like a decent specimen of man. But him traveling with you? That is what makes me sick to my heart and leadens my stomach. If you had only waited, we could have taken the voyage together.

“Julian! I’m coming! I’m just saying goodbye!” you call back. Your cheeks go bright red. Mine go pallid.

“Well, if you’re really sure you want to do this.” I don’t want to burden you. I won’t say the words my heart ache to say. No, all I will say is goodbye… for now.

“Well….” Your eyes draw me for a few seconds, my heart rises. “Yes. I’ve decided. I’m going with Julian.” And everything comes crashing down inside me. But I’m still smiling.

“Alright. Well, I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t forget to write. Bon voyage.”

“Goodbye. I’ll write to you about it all.”

And so you walk away, your white parasol in one hand, the other wrapped around his arm as he leads you towards the gangplank. I stand here watching you both go. It feels like I can barely breath. I remind myself of my father’s words and wisdoms, but it doesn’t help the pain. Not at all. I still stand here. You still stand there. So much time and space between us.

Dreams from Job

The Lord giveth
Yes He does
He gives and gives
From up above
Yet none remembers
The breaths and hours
The food and shelter
And providing powers
We all remain constant
In complacent sloth
While the Lord keeps giving
From above

The Lord giveth and
Yet He ‘and’s
He ‘and’s and He ‘and’s
And He ‘and’s some more
He is God, He is King
He can do what He wants
The Lord can give
And He can ‘and’ to the end
Of the end of time’s
Gift. The Lord can
‘and’ when He gives

He Gives
And Takes
He takes
He rakes
And takes
And reaps the earth
Soaking the world
And his garmenst in blood
The tears of Rachel
Still ring in His ears
He takes as He gives and
Gives as He takes
And ‘and’s as He ‘and’s
For the Lord is great

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away
The Lord has given and the Lord took it back
The Lord will give and the Lord will take
And at the end of the day
I will bow and say
Through tears of pain and joy
Blessed be His Name

An Update and An Apology

Well, I am half way done with Chapter 6, and half way done with Part 6, and completely done several other poems (in my head anyway), however, I won't be posting any of them until Friday at the latest. God, last minute, arranged for me to be one of the intercessors for the CBC conference, and so this last few days I have been fasting tv, secular music, writing, reading, internet, and arts in general. Obviously this doesn't include school work related reading, internet, and writing, but everything else has been put on hold, until Friday. For me the arts is one of my greatest areas of devotion, and giving that up during a season for God is one of the greatest sacrifices I can make. That's why you won't be seeing me here, or on facebook for a couple more days. Just wanted to let you guys know what's up!

-The Author

The Wedding That Never Was…

Children laughing, running on the grass
Decked in rose petals of moonlit white
The sweetened air blew all around
Buzzing with the softest, purest light

The edges of this picture begins to fade
Sepia tones seep through and spread
Black tuxes fade to dull earth-brown
Stark bride alone, pale as the dead

The movements grow slow, surreal
Images and sound mix and blur
The altar grows hard and overbearing
The edges of reality begin to stir

The joy of the marriage is soft and dull
Distant echoes in time’s empty halls
Dove wings beat on the thickened air
Blurring, like paint, with the organ’s call

Her smile, forever, plastered on
She holds her veiled head so high
He stands there waiting eagerly
His calm demeanor, a blatant lie

He waits for her to take the step
Descend the aisle towards him
He waits for her to make the move
Their lives about to truly begin

Yet no move, no step, nothing at all
She stands, he stands, all rise for the bride
But no music escapes into the rich air
The oversaturated people can’t hide

The golden, rich light oversaturated
Begins to seep through the sepia seems
The world grows fuzzier, fading in light
All of it like long, distant dreams

The people are now nothing more
Than shades of sepia in seas of gold
The bride still stark, still deathly beautiful
Stand pale and shuddering and ever cold

The music is stopped on a single note
The child’s laugh on a single song
The groom’s smile on a single thought
That echo together in harmony, long

The pitch increases, the volume rises
The world fades now into the single light
Within it alone stands the still veiled bride
A grey blur in the sea of the bright

This is the place that could have been
A word, an act, a decision was all
That called the richly, golden light
To bring the future’s sudden downfall

This is her future that will not be
This is the song that will not play
This is the groom, never hers to see
This would have been their wedding day

A Day in History

Written in memorial of the first US victim of Influenza A/H1N1, also known as swine flu. It was a 23 month old baby in Texas. His or her name remains unknown to me, and I think I would keep it that way, because either way he or she has become a symbol, a symbol of either the coming pestilence or our constant paranoia. I wrote it on the morning that the child died.

***********************
A Day in History

Simbamba, mamma se kynktjie
Sleep softly, mamma's little one
Unnamed child, welcome to history
You have robbed the nation of its sleep tonight
Questions and fears and bitter tears
You had no choice, thread cut short
In your far off home of oil and longhorns
You came and we promised 80 odd plus years
Now you will never see a second May
In you are found our deepest paradox
We mourn and fear your sky dark day
The return of the dance of the dancing macabre
So sleep little one, do not see the seal’s hour
When the black horseman shall ride...
again or not yet?

Please...

Please
Be gentle with my heart
It’s the only one I have to give
And I’m sorry
Its not made of something stronger
Like hard stone or sharp steel
No, my heart is glass
Fragile glass in your hands
So please be gentle
With my glassy heart
It may not be strong
But
What it lacks in strength
It makes up for in size
And it’s growing, yes growing
One day at a time
To have more room to hold
So be gentle
With my growing heart
It flutters like a little bird
It’s still the heart of a child
But is that good or bad?
Please, take care
With my fluttering, growing, glassy heart
A heart’s a big responsibility
I would never give it lightly
If you leave it
If you forget it
If you drop it
And walk away from it
If you break it
And it shatters in a millions pieces
If you love it
What will you do with it?
Be gentle
With my fragile heart
I wish it could have been
Stronger
But its not
So be gentle
Please

Declaration

When pestilence comes over us
And corpses lie in the street
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
My body he will keep

When the wars abound relentlessly
And so many children cry with care
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
And know that He is there

When the storms clouds rage and waters rise
So many lives now gone
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
Who teaches the new song

When the market falls and the money fails
And the world comes crashing down
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
Whose provision will abound

When the jobs are scarce and the food gone
And hunger falls on the land
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
Who will feed me from His hand

When the love is turned and the pain begins
And all my hope is dead
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
The lifter of my head

When my heart come crashing, breaking down
And all the tear release
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
And He will give me peace

No matter what was and no matter what is
And no matter what is yet to be
I will place my gaze upon the LORD
In His love He will hide me