The Kiss

I know you are sitting there, waiting

The sun shines on your back, but you don't see it

Over and over, playing out in your mind

That moment when it all came alive

That moment we knew

It is the perfect moment, playing in your mind

As you sit there waiting

Not seeing your hands resting on the wooden table

Not feeling the warm rays on your shoulders

Just feeling that breath taking kiss replaying it in your mind

Little dust motes drifting in and out of the light

Trying to dance like fairies

But all you can think of is that kiss

The electricity charging through our bodies

Exploding in our hearts simultaneously

And though I am not there feeling the sun

Though I am not sharing your space

I am in that same moment, every day

Right there in your heart

Replaying that kiss, so I may compare it to the next

Battle Call

The mists that had enveloped the camp were clearing, early morning birds sang mournful cries to warn of the coming sun. Parting the skins over her door with her pale bare hand, she emerged from her tent. Her regal air set her apart as much has her attire did. Flaxen upbraided hair swayed in the soft breeze that pushed away the morning fog. The wavy locks intertwined with the golden knot trim on her forest colored dress, creating a golden mantel that glinted from the first rays of the morning sun. Each of her measured steps brought her closer to her destination. Determination glinted from her pale blue eyes, while her face was stoic and a beautiful calm. The armored men stood in cold, still respect as she passed by; warriors waiting for their general to address them. As she stopped and faced her white battle stallion, her attendants adorned her tiny waist with a golden belt, the gold arm plates were tightened with ease. She stood as a battle hardened commander, readying for the charge. Lifting herself onto the horse, she turned and raised her sword to the sky. The men who had waited with baited breath, let out battle cry in unison. Turning the steed towards battle, the men scrambled to their mounts to rally to the call. All that they left was the torn earth from the hooves of their ride.

The Diva

On the stage stood the Diva, serenely tall and still. Resplendent and refined, not one hair out of place, not one fold of of her white gown was disturbed. The silence in the darkened auditorium gave a clean palette for the Diva to work with. The first notes of the of the subdued orchestra set the tone. The sweet timbre of the clarinet and flute conducted the mood, begging in low tones for the Dive to respond.  All eyes were on her, not for her exacting beauty or poise, exposed for all to see; but for the perfect tones issuing from her her red full lips. The song come softly, almost quietly building at a slow harmonic pace. Each note wrapping around every member of the audience. Dulcet sounds of love traveled through the rapt listeners. It visited each person as a witness, bearing its pure and devoted voice to every heart in the gallery. The lofty notes drew quieted gasps from enthralled viewers. Many had tears falling from their eyes, but not one hand moved to still the silent moisture. Such longing and revelation held captive the very soul of each member of the congregation. The a capella pleas begged divine forgiveness, only to end finding silence and darkness.

Fleeting

It is an odd thing, this mourning.
It came out of the stillness of the setting sun,
when the last beams of warm light touch the cooling earth.

The end for her came at her beginning.
Alone on the mountain of her youth,
at one with nature, the sun, the sky and the earth.

She sat still, communing with her terra mother.
The wind dances with her hair in a final caress,
her gentle locks moved smoothly around her face.

The sun shone on her procelain face.
No tears wetted her cheeks,
nor any fear marred her eyes.

Her rapture was set upon her in a quiet voice.
Calling her to comforting home of eternal and magical peace,
soft reward for the battles she had both won and lost.

Through angelic brown eyes the vision of the last sunset was reflected.
The clouds parted a pathway to her destination,
the music of spells guided her away.

She closed her eyes and was no more...


Originally Written August 6, 2009

Lux Aeterna

Mortal: Subject to death; having transitory life...

Life not everlasting

No continuance, a linear measure of time

To be a mortal creature, in this mortal life

Subject to death, decease, demise, departure...

Mortality: Subjection to death or to the necessity of dying...

Knowing there will be end

No continuance, a linear measure of time

Denied immortal existence, to be human

Subject to passing on, quietus, expire, termination

Originally written March 10, 2009

The Journey Into The West

The Journey Into The West ~ Catherine Maccabee (With help from Howard Shore, Fran Walsh, Anne Lennox and J.R.R. Tolkien)

“ 'End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path. One that we all must take. The gray rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass. And then you see it’

‘See what?’

‘White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.’ ”

Still air, lazy stalks of grass bend for the moment and not the wind

Butterflies fail to stir the atmosphere as they flutter silently byGolden clouds drift gently, dancing with silver rays of sunset

Ripples on the water reflect the light with a near painful brilliance

The horizon beckons the weary souls

No one knows the route

None fear the journey

Left behind is unrest, a thin spirit shed like an unneeded cloak

Abandoned is sadness and loss, removed like a dreary mask

Hope and strength to be left on these shores for the new youth

New stories and lives will weave the tales of this land

Music begs to be written

No one knows the songs

None fear the dance

“…Hope fades into the world of nightThrough shadows falling, out of memory and time

Don't say: ‘We have come now to the end’

White shores are calling, you and I will meet again...

...And all will turn, to silver glassA light on the water, gray ships pass

Into the West.”

Originally written January 26, 2009 

Step Quietly Here...

She is the huntress, the queen of the wild. She keeps these lands under her control by steel and blood.

The cold hard steel, weighted in her strong hands. It bends to her every whim. Sending death quickly and thoroughly.

Her dark skin hardend by life of the hunt, holding itself against tempered muscle. Piercing eyes that never miss a sign of life. Only power and cunning can rule here. She feels not saddness for the loss, only silent joy of the hunt.

Blood of the prey, pumping ice cold in the veins as it smells death approaching. Never knowing what direction it is coming from. Pools of red forming as life forces itself out of the body.

She sees you and you don't see her. If you do, you know you are dead.

Originally written May 31, 2008

Chaotic Dance

weareallmovingaroundincircles

tryingtofindtherightrhythmlosing

ourselvesinthebeatofthemusic

strobinglightskeepourmindsplacid

whileourbodiesaretakenoverour

livesandsoulsinthehandsofthedjwho

spinsourmindsoutofcontrol


Originally written May 31, 2008

Water of Life

Originally Written May 31, 2008:

Find out where the water has flown
seek the dryist creek bed and hunt down the loss
Stop the erosion and drought if you can
keep the land from changing shape and loosing the familiar contours
Wind whips through the dead dry grass, music seldom sings from the fowl
even the insects see death's door looming nearby
Thin whisps of clouds sail by, not offering even a drop of healing rain
their veils not even an attempt at shade
The water has left, and you seem to not notice
you kick at the dirt and complain of supper being late and livestock missing
You are blind to the disease and crippled conditions
your thoughts are of selfish need and short sighted gains
The protections that were begged of you are no longer asked
what bounty you used to received is no longer given
Looking for the source of your loss perhaps is too late
maybe you should be asking for a raindance from the gods, asking for mercy

Darkness

She sat. Her white shift draped over her as she waited. Her surroundings enveloped her. The walls were indistinguishable from the floor, built with darkness. Her cell would be called black, if not for the total lack of color that settled about her. The rough hewn rocks had a way of draining away anything that called itself life from a body. The surface of the walls and floor were hard, but not cold. The heavy stone bench dispassionately supported her little body as she sat numbly losing track of time. It offered no comfort, no hope of solace.

The Voice waited. It knew her inner turmoil, boiling inside her. It knew her own thoughts would gnaw at her very foundation of sanity. Still it waited

She had let her head hang, letting her hair fall with gravity, not one dark hair moved. She tried to listen to her heartbeat, some little ray of hope, but she could not hear it. The only noise was her short gasps, but she could not hear that either. The sounds in her mind were the only thing she could hear. Her mind was slowly churning with thoughts. Dark thoughts, ones that stabbed fear into her very core.

The voice was waiting for her to move, show some indication she was on the verge of breaking. It's patience was eternal, it had no need for metering time, it just waited. Knowing it's time would come.

Her thoughts never stopped. They kept playing over and over in her mind, taking different shapes trying to pursuade her she can find a solution, find a way to wander out of this labyrinth. Distant hums of conversation eerily begged her to hear them, to understand what they wanted from her. The first drip of sweat crossed her brow and ran the length of her nose waiting to drip.

The Voice sees it starting, oh the anticipated moment was nearly here. Her hair was damp from perspiration. The first little shakes made her hair do a jerky dance. Just a little more time to wait, oh it's nearly here.

The shift was clinging to her shaking shoulders. Her hands in balled up fists, her nails dug into the palm of her hands. She couldn't keep what was suppose to be real, what was her life and the images she did not understand from intertwining. The thoughts danced in chaos with no order. A small whimper escaped her lips.

The room was quiet again. The stone bench was empty. Her frail body lay on the floor, her pale lifeless face pointed into nothingness. Her matted hair clung around her porcelain features, her eyes mercifully closed. The room became more dark, more horrible. The Voice knew it was the only way to survive.