A short story of little sense

It was supposed to be the beginning of a story, but it ended up quite different. The Eliyan in the story isn't actually the same Eliyan as my previous one, I just ran out of names at the last minute, and my muse wasn't available at my workplace - so there's that.

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There was little that he could do but accept the fate that awaited him. The blade held high glinted in the sun. Evilly, perhaps? Or would that be far too descriptive of a common butcher’s blade? Although, given his reasons for doing so, evil might not suffice its present deeds…

Hardly one for waiting for events to unravel in their own time, Eliyan might have rushed things a little prematurely when he had confronted his present captor in an effort to regain his family holdings. Brought up by priests and clerics, Eliyan was a fond believer the wielder of truth and justice would prevail before all travesties, evil and tempting as they may be. Such was not to be, even with his family name and honour intact and restored. Eliyan was, in full honours and titles, easily a name that took hours on end to announce to a lord’s audience.

Eliyan had previously considered himself lucky that he had yet to reveal all this titles – one could never be too sure of kidnappers and robbers on the road – and that there had been no true need thus far in his travels. Now however, he was beginning to rethink his reasons for such an action. Prudence was, in all and definite terms, not one of the reasons, that was for sure. It was not as if he carried large amounts of gold, silver, gems, or any other type of precious metal, mineral or stone of any sort on his person. To be exact, on any given day, his meagre coin purse would be celebrating if it ever held more than a handful of coppers for any longer than a couple of minutes.

This brought back a snatch of conversation Eliyan had heard early on his travels.

“I do not take to giving you, my husband, any more money to spend on your ale and your wenching.”

“Ay? Worried about the metal burning a hole in my pocket? That’s nice of you…”

“Burn a hole? The metal wouldn’t even be there long enough to warm the lining!”

Eliyan smiled as he compared the way that the coins changed hands whenever he held it. Where he came from, the metal never cooled down long enough with the way it changed hands. The only way it stopped moving would be if the metal finally burned its way through a merchant’s palm, perhaps. But even so, the merchant would be shaking his scalded fist at a street urchin who had palmed the coin on the way down.

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I might continue the story, but for now, I'll end off here. The story came as an inspiration from Thomas M. Reid's The Scions of Arrabar Trilogy, hence the coin and merchant stuff. At the back of my mind was also Paul S. Kemp's Sembia stories, with all the merchants and all, hence the long titles and weird thoughts.

~ Kivan signing off for the day and night.

Animal training ramblings

I attended a training a couple of weeks ago, and got terribly bored. It was then that Kivan came to the front of my mind and took over, hence, Kivan's little compositions came mostly from little inspirations or from words I picked up randomly either from the speaker, or from the people seated around me. Enjoy.

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The importance of fools

The importance of fools is beyond comprehension. Without count jester, kings art naught. No village idiot, wiseman there is not. There is so much to be said of them, yet nothing we have spoken. Believe it if you will, or call my bluff – it still remains that naught there is in the world, whichever you live in, that can compare to a fool.


Would it be…

Would it be that you were a man,
The world would be a safer place to be.
Would it be that you were a ghost,
Life would not be worth living to me.

Would it be that he were a monster,
The world would be a place of suffering.
Would it be that she were an angel,
For thy to exist would mean nothing.

Would it be that I were a ruler,
There would be no pain.
Would it be that I were a tyrant,
The world would have nothing to gain.

Would it be that they had not spoken,
This place would be so different.
Would it be that they had not done,
To us would not have fallen this burden.


Life without a cause

Cause and effect, effect and causality. What exactly do these two have in common, one might ask. Should there be one, the other would be present. Should there be an absence of the other, the first would be a myth. We always say that our life should have a cause, for without one we would be lost. I think not. Without a cause for life, all that would happen is that we would hold no effect. None to the surroundings, none to ourselves. On the other hand, a life without a course would mean that we would be lost, or at least we wouldn’t know where we are (save for ‘here’) in the maze of life, but we would still have a big effect on the people and environment ‘here’ around us (wherever here may be).

So which do we actually lack? The cause or the course? Are we lost but effective? Or are we effect-less but present? The paths more travelled have maps, held by elders and peers mostly, but bear in mind that paths change all the time. The path taken yesterday may no longer be there, or a ghost and illusion of it remains but ineffectual. Still, paths once trodden often come back again, even if it takes an eternity.

Causes in life are hardly one and the same. Everyone serves a different purpose, but by serve I do not denote the complete servitude of man to purpose, instead more like the sly advisor who serves for his own benefit but whose allegiances are a willow in the wind. A cause one must find, else life ineffectual. A course one need not find for it will find you, or you will stumble into it in the blindness of time. The problem that remains is staying on it, as it slithers off into the darkness. Just remember to not be one of those who spend entire lifetimes scampering after a path which no longer exists or winds repeatedly away – life just isn’t long enough to be worth the chase of a phantom into the mists of time.

Random Poems 2

Crusades

Nights with a cause, sometimes a fiery temper,
Wholly is the reason for the greater good.
Sole is in the actions of a long forgotten hero,
Met with no grace came the ensuring flood.

Lacking the best of all lost arts,
Faith is the speaker in a parliament of ravens.
Believe in blindness condemns a multitude,
Forgiveness is left on the ledger lines.

Midnight the sky may seem to be,
Farther beyond the knight comes a-riding.
Slow is the progress of the dams being built,
The sands of time leave hope like a sieve.


King

A vision seen clear,
attainment unfounded.
Wishes and hopes,
are breaths in the wind.

Intention and happenstance,
twins in a feuding battle.
Seen is eye to eye,
unmet is of the mind.

Foreseen not fore planned,
the colossus of my life.
It ends that I ruled naught,
and none commanded I.


Brotherhood

Certainty is an absolute,
Confidence a given.
Where the breath of life ends,
The kiss of death returns.

One is a taker,
The other a giver.
Neither can be returned,
Both can be lost.

None can see what tends to be true,
Twins of high-standing, hard as can be.
To emerge a victor is to surface anew,
But neither sibling will you set free.

Not woodsmen, not hunters,
though prey they may be,
Loggers the both of them,
with no wood cut between these.


Sombre

A symphony of feelings,
Met with ideas too sombre.
Blown away all thoughts,
Morals with lost timbre.

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I wrote these when I was really bored one day, while waiting for... oh, I can't remember what anymore. They were, incidentally, all based on Kingdom of Heaven. I really, really, love the first poem though. You've got to read it out loud to find all the puns that I've hidden inside.

Just to get you started, the first word, "Nights", is a pun for something spelt real similar, and sounds exactly the same when pronunced. It become even more obvious when you take into account the title of the poem.

So, there you have it. Have fun!

Coronation

Amazing. I always thought no one ever read this blog of mine. And to think within a single week, two people have actually spoken to me about the blog… Seriously amazing. But on to more important things…

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Before I start, I must admit that I have lost my writers’ bug somewhere, about… I don’t know, maybe 3 months back? But I’ve got to try, if only to prove to myself that I’m still sane and writing. For one thing, my typing speed has slowed down horrendously.

As always, to state my inspiration, I’m listening to the Kingdom of Heaven soundtrack now, although it doesn’t seem to be giving any ideas to this dried-out corpse of a once-inspired mind. Too many examinations can do that to you, I suppose. I really should be studying for my ACMB test tomorrow, and ABC and CCTA on the day after, but like I said, I need to stay sane someway.

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Coronation
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The gentle wind caressed the coarse, sable sheets in the air. Sheets that were once most revered, most respected in all the lands one could see from this tower…

Ah yes. This tower. A tower that once symbolised fairness, signified the just, represented the downtrodden when they could not speak. Now? All it denoted was the downfall of such a wondrous time. A Golden Age, some of the elders called it.

Golden? I scoff at that word. I sneer at the meanings it once held for me. Ridiculed I have been, bearing that dark emblem once. Jeered and mocked by all I had once protected. All because of that insolent young whelp!
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Arisen from the ashes, a new king will be born. Fallen into glory, a demon shall be devoured. Hung in glass all others will be. In their hands they hold the power to conflict.

I never understood the meaning of these words, spoken by the cursed one. I did not name her as such once, for her beauty and innocence outshone everything she came into contact with. But now, but now… She is cursed, not blessed with the future. A seer, some call her. A harbinger I believe to be more likely.

A new king was indeed born, the elder whom we all loved and respected till the day he died. His child, oh yes, his child, was indeed another matter. Incorrigible in his actions, wild for laughter, hungry for blood – a warmonger, we all said, but he would not listen. He should have, for it was his downfall…

We, his people, had praised him to the skies. His son believed it, and he foresaw, in those crooked eyes of his, that if his father fell in a hunting accident, the glory would be his. All his…

We rode with the youngling after the fall of the elder. ‘Pillage and plunder!’ he cried. ‘The strong shall rule, the weak shall whimper! We are of the iron fist! We shall rule with an iron heart!’

We saw that which was coming, but there was naught we could… no. There was much we could do, but naught we put into action.

When the commoners began to leave, we blockaded the city. But they were the ones who built it, stone for stone, brick on brick. They tore down the foundations, finding weaknesses only the builders would know. Together, they fled, leaving only the Black Knights of the Iron Rule behind.

Once, we were known as the Knights the Black Fist, and we gloried in such terms. Respected, revered, honoured even. But now, our name meant only fear, and a false admiration came from the blood-thirsty barbarians of the south.

Looking back now, I do not rightly remember how it happened. It was barely last night, that I am sure. And there was a storm. The old tree in the courtyard had fallen, and we were clearing it. Our armour clanking noisily – we never took off our platemail anymore, there was no use. The king often summoned us off for battle every other day – we removed the bulk of the split trunk and branches.

None of us actually reacted when we heard the scream, or when we saw the blood and splatter. We just watched his life drain away, and we continued to remove the wreckage the tree had wrought by its fall. Eventually, we cleared it all by sunrise, and then we turned.

He had been stabbed in the back by a carving knife, presumably taken from his table of dining. But that was not what killed him. He had been pushed, from the highest tower, from his bed chambers, and he fell into the courtyard. Knights of the Black Fist we remained, even in our uneasy servitude to our lord’s son. Now dead, there was no one to carry the line, and so we left.

We left the towers. We left the garrison. We left the feasting halls and the ballrooms and the kitchens. We left the barracks empty. We left the gates open, we left the doors ajar. But most importantly, we left the body there. We left it to rot in the sun, we left it for the vultures and the scavengers and the rodents to feast in the place where laughter ceased a lifetime ago. The place where there was no joy, there was no happiness, there was nothing left but the wind – and the corpse of a murderer.
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Now, walking along these streets, they recognise me for what I was, for what I symbolise. A Knight of the Black Fist, turned from the paths of just and holy. A Black Knight of the Iron Rule, returned from the abyss and chasm of the damned.

The fickleness of the gods is shown in my walk, the unpredictability of man in my steps. They turn from me, a harbinger of doom of sorts. They do not face me, for I reflect their sins. They turn from me, shying away from the truth which I bear on my forehead now. Branded for life, they question my loyalty. They wonder at my actions. Doubt, suspicion, uncertainty… These are that which I face everyday now.

So strangely akin to that woman – Cassandra – the cursed one. Almost daily now, I repeat her words to those that would hear them. Already, I hear them terming me as a cursed seer, or farsighted one…

But already, as I look into the towers that rise above me, so similar and different from the ones I once served, I see its future… It is the same in so many ways – his lady is with child…

Strange how history repeats itself in front of my very eyes.

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Oh dear. I didn’t intend for something so dark. I meant for something light-hearted, or at least I was aiming for something towards the good side, not the bad. Oh well, my rants don’t always end up the way I intended them to be.

By the way, just so I could share yet another little piece of useless information I have gathered in my life thus far:

Cassandra is a seer, a prophet in… err… I seem to have forgotten. Greek mythology, I think. She was somehow, either through angering the gods, or out of pure malice they did it to her, gifted with the ability to see the future – accurately. However, they put a lovely little twist in her abilities. No one, absolutely no one, would believe her words. The gods had gifted her with the ability to see the future that was about to unfold, but cursed her that no one would listen to her words.

If I am correct, I believe that Cassandra was in Troy before it fell. She predicted that Troy would fall, but no one listened. I don’t know if she survived the fall of Troy, but I’m quite sure most of the Trojans would have been feeling a little like the protagonist in my story.

Anyway, so that’s why you should choose names for yourself, or for your kids carefully. Some of the names sound really nice and innocent, but sometimes, the names bear a terrible meaning, even if no one really remembers it anymore. Cassandra is a great example. I myself have known a number of Cassandras, but not a single one knows that her name denotes “a seer who has great foresight, but no one would listen or pay heed to”. Or something to that effect. And just so you know, I am not telling tales so tall. I read it somewhere once. It’s true.

~ Kivan signing off for the morning (and going off to study, seriously)

A Spontaneous Rant!

Wow. I've just realised that I've not been here for over a month now, and truth be told, I've had a lot of free time lately. Just that I couldn't think of anything to write, so why bother coming online and embarrassing yourself, no?

Well, one way or another, I've decided that I definitely need to say something to let those loyal *coff coff* readers of mine, or at least the management at Blogger, know that the owner of said blog has not kicked the proverbial bucket, or something to that effect.

And so, I bring you one of the world's most feared artefacts... A random rant!

Well, actually not. THIS one's going to be a spontaneous rant. I've absolutely nothing in mind now, and it's 1am... Well, I am listening to the soundtrack for The Day After Tomorrow... I suppose that's inspiration enough. Let's see how this goes.

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They say that there's a heaven in every man's heart, in every man's soul. That if we were willing, and if we were guided with that perfect hand, a touch is all that we need to find that path...

But then, there are those who speak of the underworld. They say there's a hell in every man's mind, an abyss in the deepest chambers of their forsaken hearts. There's evil in every man's action, sin guided them into this world, and so sin shall lead them through it, and ultimately sin shall throw them out.

And so? There are still others who speak of heaven and hell in a detached way. There is no heaven, there is no hell. All there exists is our conscience and our desires. Most of the time, they work together, pulling and pushing us through our lives, passing judgements and tossing out advice, most of which we rarely hear and heed. It is at times when they conflict that they pose a problem.

No man can admit that he is divided in a matter. Truly divided in an important matter, that is. People would call him insane at best - worse would be to be branded a witch or warlock. And so, was created "good" and "evil". Sentient beings gave them shape and form and meaning, breathed into them their life and essence, and from them was born beings, similar to their creators, equally sinful and lustful, yet benevolent and kind at the same time. The balance of these "virtues" rule their actions, with those of the demonic nature leaning towards the "evil traits" of the infamous seven sins, and the angelic ones being the epitome of good natured-ness and perfect values.

Yet, these humanoids... They are beings, but they are not human. They should live, or at least exist someplace, but surely, they cannot exist alongside their creators for they were only mortal. And so heaven and hell was created. Yet, somehow, hell seemed more important, did it not?

For heaven, there is only one path, there is only one name, there is only one direction.

For hell, there's a multitude of ways to get there - sin being the chief among them. The names are plentiful - abyss, underworld, Hades, the Below... For the direction? Why, depending on what you believe, going to hell might be a matter of up, down, left, right... If you could find a fifth direction, I suppose someone would tell you of a way to get there using that direction.

Which brings one to this thought; Why the need for such an elaborate way to get to hell when it obviously is not where mortals wish to be?

'Tis simple to answer - because of the nature of mortals.

Mortals are often held sway by desire. Conscience may serve you for a lifetime, keeping you from ill for a thousand years. All it takes is for the final slip of tongue in front of the ultimate judgement and you'll be branded a sinner for eternity to come. Desire needs only caress your cheek and turn your head for you to fall to hell, where conscience must keep an iron fist on mind, heart, soul and body. So why not blame their failings on something they created? It was the obvious choice, and they've taken that path.

And so, the thousand roads to hell increase in number, size and magnitude as each day passes. Each road is more well-tread than the last, none is disused.

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Well, finally lost my train of thought. I've got to credit the topic to something else other than the soundtrack though - it was Sarah Brightman's Eden. Yes, now you can see where the inspiration came from, eh? The darkness of the piece? Was listening to Ameno and Fundamentum. One must understand one's own mind on how such weird pieces come to light. Else... wouldn't one have to be insane if one truly thought along these lines? True, such are but passing fantasies to dance and tread upon lightly. But to linger, there lies the danger. 'Tis not the fear of being branded pagan, 'tis much worse. To believe truly in this, to the extent of refuting all logic would be insanity. While one may know deep inside the ring of truth, and the lies of "reality", one must sometimes wrap oneself with such comforting tales and untruths, like a blanket to block out the bigger truth. And I quote "You can't handle the truth!"

Yes, a rather anti-climax ending, no? But think on it. I rarely seem to be able to work on an isolated level kind of train of thought nowadays. I've got several meanings in my sentences. Even in the afterword (the foreword as well).

Enjoy the rest of your web surfing. Cheers!

~~Kivan signing off for the night.

A word From the Elvene

And I have returned. Finally.

The long-awaited Ephorus and the Lady is now published, although I am rather disappointed at the way it turned out. I had tons of ideas, but after a couple of months... Well, it's rather understandable that the whole thing turned out to be quite un-continue-able.

So, basically, what is published here is what has been composed since two, three months or so ago. Happy reading. I might try and continue the storyline another time when the tiger strikes again. (I'll explain the choice of animal some time later. Maybe if I ever publish that pathetic comedy I wrote a long time ago. I can never get pass the crude puns long enough to publish it...)

Ahem. Anyway... The Guardian was inspired by the book I was reading a few months ago - The Guardian of the Lost, by Margaret Weiss and Tracy Hickman. It turned out to be absolute rant though. The rave about foxglove is true, however. It is true that the nature of the word Foxglove came from Folk's Glove rather than Fox's glove. Although... I wonder if it's Folks' Glove or Folk's Glove... Does it belong to one or more of the Little Folk...?

Black Sins & Eating Hawks were, as I have said before, inspired by the movies. If I didn't have so much work sneaking up behind me, I wouldn't have procrastinated the writing of that entry. Then I might have actually gotten something written down that actually made some sense. But what is done is done. There's no way to turn back the time. As yet, at least.

Little Rants are basically a compilation of most, if not all, the wintry deposits of papers and random scraps dusting my desk. Thus, they don't really have any connection between each other and all. If you can see any connection... Well... Let's just say I wasn't aware that Nostradamus II was reading my blog.

And the humongously long post... Random Poems, are just that - a random collection of poems composed. Or rather, a collection of randomly composed poems. Those composed on the first day, the 16th, were composed as a release of a sort for the writers' bug that kept biting during my alter's finals. Planning to write only one, I ended up writing more and more as I tried to use different methods...

Most don't really make sense, but my favourites are mostly those written on the 16th, and the one inspired by "Shakespeare". By the by, the words in bold and italic before the poems are the source of my inspiration. Most of the earlier ones are inspired by the lyrics of the Romanian song Dragostea Din Tei as sung by O-Zone (You can hear the chorus by selecting it on the player on the right). The later ones were mostly random words I picked up as I looked around (quite literally, as in sitting on your chair and lifting your head while turning around).

I might discuss my poems. Most have several layers of puns, especially the one inspired by Shakespeare - of which I'm tremendously proud of. Oh well, to let you in on my genius (right, I know, most of you are gagging now), the second poem, the one that goes:

Leave, by all means go,
It portends to nothing.
Dear John she wrote.

It has a double meaning. John may or may not be the recipient of the letter, it matters not. But if you were a "literary" person, or rather, just a little more well read, you would also know that a Dear John letter is the type of letter which a female writes when she breaks up with her life-partner / boyfriend / (so long as it is male in gender, and is an intimate relationship) etc. The first line, "Leave, by all means go" can refer to his exact words, or in a deeper meaning, it also refers to "she left by a certain means that the poet disliked" (probably in the arms of another).

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Yes, yes... I can see your open-mouthed stares as I explained that one... Thank you, thank you. I'm such a genius, am I not? Wahaha... No, just joking. Have a wonderful week, no matter when you read this, I mean the same (hint, hint: TS, are you reading this?).

Oh yesh, speaking of hints... Did you guys catch the hint about the coming Wednesday yet? No? Just kidding. Doesn't matter. Won't be seeing most of you till November anyway. That's if my timetable allows for it... With the coming piano examination, the other piano concert... and... Oh yeah... I promised the band kids to go back and see them... Busy, busy Kivan's alter... No time for Kivan to write...

*Man, I sound like someone out of a kiddie's book. Talk about the incredible number of fullstops too - I doubt I've ever used so many in so short a paragraph before; not in a proper composition, at least.

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Random Poems

Friday, 16th September 2005
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Alo, Salut, sunt eu, un haiduc.

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A greeting, salutations.
A name, in itself
Meaningless.

An outlaw, or in?
'tis decided.
But not by you.

To wish, to want, is decreed
But not by above.
Your conscience.

A goodbye, not said
Aloud. Leave-take
If I may do.

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Vrei sa pleci dar nu ma iei.

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Leave, by all means go,
It portends to nothing.
Dear John she wrote.

Heart unbroken is
By no course unspoken.
You perceive naught.

Sightless I wander
Amid the glowing streets that
Dawns not today.

Muse I have not. Yet
To fault is to err, that
Is but human.

Left alone, spiteful
And callous. Vindictive
Is no virtue.

There'll be another
Tomorrow, day after
It matters not.

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To let go is amazing,
To foresee, incomparable.
Leaving's eternally easy,
Left behind, poorly sentimental.

Eventide I salute,
To you in the winter.
Know not what it means?
I will accost you later.

Adytum, safe haven,
The difference unknown.
Sanctum in the ancients,
Disparity not sown.

To forgive and forget
Two values you seek to learn.
Eternal truth in a coffer,
There's nothing in that urn.

Sift no more,
The journey's at an end.
What you've pursued,
You will now tend.

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Si sunt voinic.

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Strength is in the water,
Heart is in the sand.
Life is in the whether,
That, you understand.

Care not for my words,
They only mislead.
Listen to the rhythm,
The truth, you will not heed.

Bravery for you to swallow,
Courage is but a drink.
Profound this may be,
Far too much, you do think.

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Dar sa stii nu-ti cer nimic.

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Askance and repentance,
Questions and regrets.
Knowledge in refusal,
Punishment is not met.

Sufferance in perusal,
'tis at first glance.
Invisible souls crumble,
But not perchance.

Loyalties lie,
Where they may need to.
Treachery stands,
Such a banal tool.

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Love is for free
But not without a price.
It heralds much pain,
Why suffer this vice?

Our hearts feel not,
Yet is far from vacant.
Its chambers are filled,
We have grown complacent.

"Trust not your mind,
For it lies like no other,"
Insanity rules us then,
For that is what I gather.

A paradox,
Is what we've become.
There's no cure for it,
We are all done.

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Si te rog primeste fericirea.

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Happy for a minute,
Sad for two more.
We put up with that,
Whatever for?

Tolerate incompetence,
That, we often do.
Why put ourselves to such grief?
Because I love you.

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Acceptance is not
For you to ask.
It is given.

Take it or not, the
Anguish is yours.
Pain rules your soul.

Essence seeks revenge
It can't obtain.
Rage uncontained.

Resentment, fury.
Blame no one. The
Fault was your own.

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Iubirea mea.

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False hope, false desires.
"You complete me,
Life is never the same"
How could it be?

Annoyance, so infuriating.
Antagonism to no end.
Exasperation; I am riled.
At what? Can't comprehend.

Self torment brings trouble,
Worry and fear is a shroud.
Swathed in a funeral pall,
Anguish is not just a cloud.

Unfulfilled and bare,
Drained to barrenness.
Misery can only fill that much,
The rest has become a mess.

Withered spirit to the core,
Faded beyond recognition.
Tedious life becomes,
It will be your turn.

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Affection means so much,
The dedicated understand.
Fond and attentive,
They support and they tend.

Committed and devoted,
Keen is their desire.
Duty is their keep,
Enthusiasm, their fire.

Sweat and blood dampen not,
That is their merit.
Flame burns so bright,
It is ablaze with spirit.

Needless to say,
It raises much.
Smouldering with adoration,
It boasts the gentlest touch.

Fixated with adoration,
Drunken on such mead.
It's like no other addiction,
You have no other need.

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Aria

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An aria to the living,
A lament for the dead.
When all is said and done,
What remains in your head?

"Everything leaves with the soul,
Nothing is left behind."
Then what use is the cadaver?
Why not feed it to the swine?

Dignity is no more,
Honour long since fled.
Yet we reach beyond our graves,
The living fears our tread.

Sullen are their voices,
Rejoicing though they must.
Sable is their dress,
Diminished, their trust.

Requiem for a dream,
In more meanings than one.
Lost are the promises,
Remembered are deeds done.

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Saturday, 17th September 2005
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Reason

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Reason is beyond
Fair comparison.
'tis hard to believe.

Yet there is a sad
Truth. To such words, all
Is run through a sieve.

Meaning bears no truth,
Harbours no lie. It
Simply is - let be.

No good is sown, no
Bad is bred. Life has
Been paid your eye-teeth.

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Beyond belief
My life often is.
What you desire,
I may never give.

Deem me unfaithful,
Deem me incredible.
I'm no commodity,
At any, every level.

Credibility I fight,
At every winding turn.
A forest is the world,
I am but a fern.

"See not the forest
For all its trees."
Then where do I belong,
A weed, if I be?

Beg I do not,
Crawl only if I may.
Creeping is weird,
Grow I do everyday.

Believe me not,
For the truth I may not tell.
Your death I do not speak,
For that there is the knell.

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Scavenge

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A scavenger of eternity,
A looter of tomorrow.
Such is what we must be,
'tis our greatest sorrow.

Looking for a jewel,
No one has ever seen.
Is it not cruel,
What we've done, and where we've been?

An impossibility awaits us,
A punishment for the forsaken.
Cannot find in our hearts to trust,
For us, there is no such haven.

Forgotten and forgiven,
That is our wont.
We exist in no other coven,
Futility, our taunt.

Manage our fears,
As one often does.
Our fire burns in its bier,
It lives through bone, ash and dust.

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Sunday, 18th September 2005
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Dust to dust

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Fair Veron has gone to dust,
All that is left is the air and its musk.
Comparable to Venice it is said to have been,
We would like to have known, but naught remains to be seen.

Bard of Avon,
Words long gone.
Arthur Pendragon,
Is now in Avalon.

From dust to dust and ash to ash,
Seldom remains still bear their sash.
All is equal when all is dead,
All these lies, we've been fed.

They care not,
But we've been bought.
Away they trot,
With treasures we sought.

Truth and white lies are what they tell,
We listen, we accept, we're charmed by their spell.
Wash over us, we allow it, even at the very end,
We bother not, we fuss little, we will never contend.

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Shakespeare

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Speak no more of truths and lies,
It is now time to say goodbye.
Thrice we've said it, thrice I say.
Yet what do we aim to keep at bay?

No pretender can fake it through,
With a look, with a glance, you can see he's a fool.
A bard he is not, a minstrel, even less.
Unique he has made of such a mess.

Playing he does, a genre he's built.
His favourite haunt is of the kilt.
Stars a-crossed has made him famous,
Yet the stories are far from amorous.

A merchant at night, there have been twelve.
In the midst of summer, 'tis for their health.
O' ruler and conqueror, he has raised them all.
In sweetest of dreams, he's made royals fall.

A legacy he's left of phrases and words,
Some so obscure we've seldom heard.
His reach extends from beyond the grave,
We fear and we adore the road he has paved.

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