Old Friends Of MineSweet, solemn sorrow of tears mixed with rain.
Hot and salty,
Cold and pure;
Both rolling down my cheeks.
Look to the sky;
Find solace in those roiling grey clouds.
They have a purpose.
Rage as they wish.
A sadness and anger at the very core of their being
Like none felt before.
They are what they are.
I am what I am,
And I cry.
These clouds are old friends of mine
And I cry.
Wingless Story: Part 3 "If only I knew then what I know now I would have done my best to fulfill some other dream of his. Alas I did not, and with an unjust sense of confidence led him into our village in the dark of night, walking the gates of the temple proper with the first few hours of my fiftieth year. It was later than I had wanted to arrive, the night watch would be looking for me now. I had not accounted properly for the time it would take Arvid to make the journey to our village by foot, for I always made it by air. Yet I urged him and his cane to silence as I we stepped through into the main hall, high ceilinged and lined with books, near silent footsteps on marble echoing like thunderclaps in my nervous ears. The statues of Aratos in their niches between shelves made me nervous. I swore I could feel them breathe, and the truth of it all was that I could. They stepped from their niches, two full lines of the Nightgaurd.
It is a scene that still in my mind is crystal clear and slow. Th
Wingless Story: Part 2 "I am Lusaren…" intoned the honey-sweet voice in her head, "And this is my story. Yet, for all that this is my story, I haven't a clue where to start it. Most would say that the beginning is best, though the beginning of my story isn't the beginning of what is needed to understand. So back to my beginning I shall go first, and then skip ahead as needed.
My beginning is back farther than most would expect when looking at the face bent now over this page, writing with an awkward hand, though I have been told that one look in my eyes tells half this story for me. So back farther than most would expect, though not back so far. 86 years have passed since I first came into this world, though my kind live long lives and 86 years isn't really that long at all.
I suppose now that explaining my kind, or what was once my kind, and what they are is as good a place as any to start. For simplicity's sake, however, I suppose I shall refer to myself as one of them, until it becomes
Wingless Story: Part 1A figure stood leaning heavily on an ornate staff watching silently from the woods, every instinct within her screamed to take flight, underdeveloped muscles at her back and shoulders ached to flap wings that, by all means, should have arched majestically over her head. Instead she closed bright, spring-green eyes beneath golden hued lids and breathed deeply of air that all but froze in her fiery lungs. She wasn't all right, hadn't been for a long while, but she made due, and so she lived.
Opening her eyes again she sank warily to the frozen ground beneath her. An odd combination of movements, sliding, leaning, and hopping, made it possible, though the back of her mind wondered if she'd ever get up again.
Her hand slipped into her pocket and withdrew a book rather too large to be comfortably residing there, and upon the age-worn, yellowed page of parchment, spread her own handwriting, the neat, precise letters of one trained to the profession of a scribe. Blue ink had fad
All In My Head
Smooth like jazz
Tell me it's all in my head
Not sure I'll believe the one who pulled the world from beneath me
Blood on the ground, fallen like rain
Sickly sweet smile
As you tell me that it's all the same
Trying hard to play the game, to fit a mould, to be everything I'm not
Always thought there was something wrong with this
All in my head? All in yours.
Too smooth, too silky, too everything.
The world slides off your back
And it's all in my head….
AwakenedDeep red walls
An undying marble floor
Like a blanket
Of the first fleeting winter's snow
Stretched between things
Lain on the floor
To be covered in dust
Oh so close
To the dusty floor
One deep breath
Put to sleep
Only to be awakened
The Only Thing...
Steps that rend the air
Thousands of moments still as I stop and stand
Branches that seem to bend
In an unfelt breeze that whispers my name
And something all too familiar about every word
Branches above cage me to the earth
Gnarled wooden fingers clasped tight above my head
Sky torn in myriad blue fragments
Jewel-toned and comforting in their azure, winter-cracking sharpness
Fog of my breath obscuring the path ahead,
One not needed in this single moment of clarity
Every question ever asked, pointless in this single moment
Where all that matters are my feet upon the earth
Sky sinking into darkness over my head
And the knotted fingers of ancients
Forever standing watch