 |
|
Contents
UntitledThe Ages called forth man from the sea, named him, set a mark upon his children that they should wonder at their being through all of their days.Finally there came a prophet among them, and he shone with the might of wisdom. "Prophet," they said, "what is the purpose of our suffering?" But the prophet only looked deeper into the rose. "Prophet," they said, "why were we placed upon the earth?" But the prophet only gazed at the mountains. "Prophet," one said angrily, "Why will you not speak!?" But, smiling, the prophet took the hand of a small child and walked away.
QuartetThe end of innocence and the beginning of wisdom.The tears of a child are not what they seem. The opposite of a great truth is also true. It shall rain for forty days and forty nights. The sky beckons. The stone beckons. The flame beckons. The river beckons. Speak in mind of faith. Speak in mind of truth. Speak in mind of strength. Speak in mind of love. Learn to teach truth. Learn to keep faith. Learn to use strength. Learn to feel love.
MythLost amid the cinders, glowing red from some greater heat sits a single piece of iron. With iron, it is said that Storm wounded regal Sun, and his blood falls from the clouds in sheets, setting fire to all it touches. Earth sought revenge on Storm for using him so foully, and raised up great mountains to break the clouds asunder. Storm threw water at the mountains and cut them through with rivers. Brother Tree came to live within the canyons, sheltered from Storm's hatred. Deer and Fox, and other creatures sheltered beneath Brother Tree's branches. To this day, Storm throws water at the mountains as Earth pushes them higher, Brother Tree still shelters all who pass, and Sun's blood still falls from the clouds.
In the Time of the Dreaming.To shout defiance at the universe,To stand in the cyclone's center, Glory trailing in your wake. To stride across the stars,
To speak the final truth,
To hold your dreams against the storm,
Morpheous Wakes.Distorted visions of shifting lightCrawl across my sleepless night. Unnatural forms of infinite hue Banished and gone in morning's dew.
Dawn.The man enters, Silver kilt about his waist, Skin tanned by the equatorial Sun. In his right hand he holds a Dove, in his left a Serpent. Above the Desert he stands, Secluded by the high cliffs. He raises his Arms, calling the Dawn. At first Light the dove becomes a Rod of Gold, pure as Summer sunlight. At first light the Serpent becomes a rod of Jet, Black and lustrous like a Forest stream. Eyes Aflame he descends the Cliff, though no Path lies before him. Eyes Aflame he crosses the Sand with the speed of Wind. None to witness but the Hawk, who greets him with his Cry. The man Moves on, without answering. None to witness but the River, who Beckons with cool invitation. But the Man moves on without Answering.
Darkness Falls.I call my bidding,to force my will upon the world. Mountains crumble at my voice, oceans burn at my passing. Through my desire stars collide, rupturing the heavens. Burning avalanches scourge the earth. For I am the void's harbinger.
Hecate...I see my mistress high above me,Silver robed upon the waters. The bond between us freshly forged Of purest gold and bluest steel. Heated not with words of anger, Nor cooled with those of spite. Tempered with her soft caress, And forged in poetry.
Coriolis.Patches of foam,Mark your passage over dark waters. Touching the trees, swaying in ecstasy.
Your voice calls to me from the treetops
I yearn to follow,
To fly over every field and forest,
Black Sky.To cry in darkness.Plead for aid with wordless whispers. Black walls limit vision. Reality erased by phantom sight. Void's caress repulsive. Stars hide behind the blackened sun. Fall through smoky skies. And never hear the crash.
View from a Bus Window.Steelgrey sky showing the forsaken promise of storm. Below the cliffs, lowtide waters reach for the clouds. Thousands of liquid hands grasping like drowning men, finding no purchase in the air they seek.
Autumn ChillAutumn sunlight, last remnant of summer's dying fire.Chill wind whispering winter's dark mysteries. Sky blue as a newborn's eyes, strewn with promise of future spring. Dark pebbles scattered across a concrete walk, inverse starlight. Strange figures passing through the viewpoint of my memory. Reluctantly I grasp winter's hand, and let him pull me onward.
An ending.Your days are drawing to a close,each incinerated in the sunset. You can hear the waters boil at the Sun's firey touch, The final flash of his green eyes before the dark. Prophets have spoken of this, a final purification before redemption, The wicked cast down and punished. Where will you be? Shall you follow them all like sheep? Go to heaven, go to hell? Or is there annother way? Shall you stand like Manfred, owning your evil as well as your good? Spurning the demons come to take you, Scoffing at angels come to save you? Perhaps this is better... Make your own end, your own eternity. Be forever, being what you are. ![[HOME]](txhome.gif)
![[E-mail me]](txmail.gif)
 |