I see the
honeyed magic
flow
from fingers
filled with morning’s
glow.
It’s in your hair
and cheeks
and eyes.
You wring from me
such wretched sighs.
I would possess you
if I could,
But wishing so
will do no good,
for you’re above
and I’m below.
I’ll stand beneath
the light you throw
as Lady’s favor
to her Knight
in shining armor,
ere the fight
shall take him from
her brilliant arc,
and place him in
the cold and dark.
If you send
honeyed magic there,
I’ll sleep in peace,
without a care.
Recommended reading on WriteHere: The Dreamstones of Kalpana – http://wh.tl/160501-8
Source: The Dreamstones of Kalpana
Draw me deeper,
Moonlight Mistress
into your land
of soft shadows,
the blush of your
cheek tinged
in deep blue inks
Draw me deeper,
Moonlight Mistress,
into the lemon-pale
playpen of your
midnight lair.
Draw me deeper,
Moonlight Mistress,
into silver-flecked eyes
that hold
mystery
and key
Draw me deeper,
Moonlight Mistress,
behind fragile,
obsidian feathers
hiding tender lips
that kiss
and whisper
and sing
of love
Draw me deeper,
Moonlight Mistress,
into the
Essence of you,
real and intangible,
far-off, yet visible,
distant, but reachable.
Incomprehensible.
Draw me deeper,
Moonlight Mistress,
and disperse me;
I would be the lunar light
suffused upon your
starlit skin
Shining on you
from the outside,
glowing with you
from the inside,
until the
cold, unfeeling dawn
baptizes us with dew,
and the
absolving morning sun
dissolves us
together
Drawing us
closer,
and
deeper still.
Approach in reverence,
my friend.
You are most welcome here.
The fires will light your way
to me
and calm your doubt and fear.
Long years have we been waiting for
your soul
to bring its light.
And patience is its own reward.
Now welcome
to the night.
For when the doors are opened
friend,
there will be no return.
And hidden from
celestial sight
you’ll burn
and burn
and
burn.
What verdant limb
tore
the remnant
of
my soul
that you hunt me?
What spore of heart
did I scatter,
that you
search me out?
My desire for freedom
is as deep,
if not deeper,
than your desire
to kill it.
Yet
as I flee your arrows,
my Dark Artemis,
I wonder if I’m really
searching for
a trap,
that you may
claim me
Or a corner,
where I must fight
to keep my heart,
or die a trophy
in your embrace,
And wonder
which I’ll choose…
Such secrets
such mystery
such knowledge of
promising delights
unwritten and unbound
shine
in your eyes
Alexandria
The bow and curve of
your teasing, smiling lips
holds the binding lock
of a
challenge,
daring a kiss
to pass the sensuous
bow and curve
of
your hips,
where the
key of release
hides
by the curved bow
in your hand
I am not
afraid
of
knowing you
Alexandria
I would explore
the shelved labyrinths
of love
with you
I would trace your illuminated tears
with my fingertips
and peruse the story in your laughter
with my hands in
your raven hair,
turning the page of you
to my heart’s content
In our storied, torrid passion
I would hunt at your side
and be your prey
in a bed of myrrh
buried
beneath
you
in fiery ruin
I would know you,
Alexandria
and never be
the wiser
How quietly the grave worms tread
And tunnel through the fertile earth
For now I lie here cold and dead
Devoid of sorrow, done with mirth
But yet I hear them whispering
To centipede and fly and ant
That they can hear me breathing still
Did Death consider and recant?
“We’ve eaten them alive before,
So even if they haven’t died
We’ll feast on warm flesh bountiful
Before he claims a demon bride.”
The wood that forms my coffin creaks
And rodents too join in the fray
But dead blood never, ever leaks
Dead eyes don’t see the light of day
And yet I hear them
Scraping, scratching, clawing, whispering
Whispering still
I wonder will my hearing stop,
Or will I hear them eat their fill?
How quietly the grave worms tread
And tunnel through the fertile earth
For now I lie here, feeling dread
Devoid of sorrow, done with mirth.
Always
at the heart of it
is a weapon
A kingdom’s fate
A love’s revival
A warrior’s life
A prophecy fulfilled
Always
at the heart of it
is a weapon
Discarded
Forgotten
Dulled
Unblooded
Uncared for
But a weapon
all the same
Waiting patiently
for a hand
to lift it
up into the light
to transfer its
Power
anew
Go on…
pick it up
and
feel its
heartbeat
pulse
in harmony
with
your own
The banquet lasted through the night, and Teirtu was exhausted, having played every tune he knew from his extensive repertoire, as well as with his wealthy host’s own musicians, his children, and finally the host himself,
None of them were particularly talented, but they weren’t awful, so he flattered them anyway, as sincere as he could without making his real thoughts obvious, though he suspected they already knew.
The weight of the purse he received for his night’s labor told him he’d been obsequious enough to please the man.
Some distance from the mansion now, he found himself walking down a smooth and pleasant path, and heard his stomach rumble. He decided to stop and eat some of the food the pretty kitchen girl had set aside for his journey.
In parting she also gave him a deep and tasty kiss, and rubbed the heel of her hand on the front of his pants to give him something to distract him from the fact that it was a cold morning.
Intrigued by her forwardness, he silently vowed to return, knowing deep inside he probably never actually would; kitchen girls were notorious, and he could bring to mind a few, but what good would it do him now.
A pleasant scene of dappled sunlight shining through the high summer leaves got his attention, and there seemed to be an opening that one could pass through.
He ambled through, calm, assessing his surroundings, delighted to see there was a slow moving river with flat rocks on the shore that was bperfect for laying out his small repast.
A good place to rest and eat.
Leaving his small wineskin alone, his mouth still fuzzy with its taste from last night, he decided he no longer wanted it at all.
Pouring the wine in the river, he rinsed and filled it with the clean running water.
As the skin filled and he tipped it to rinse the residue of the wine out, he saw, just outside the copse of trees, the figure of a young woman in a green, elegant gown not suited for the forest.
Her honey-gold hair spread across her shoulders and spilled down her back in waves that jounced slightly with her steps.
She was smiling at him, and he waved at her, and beckoned her to sit with him.
Her walk was as stately as her dress, but there was something in her eyes that evoked curiosity as well as dread; they were preternaturally bright, just short of glowing.
“Welcome, young bard.”
“Madam.” His eyes slowly roamed her form under the gown.
She noticed, but didn’t take offense, or blush, or give any indication she was uncomfortable with his rudeness; if anything, she seemed amused.
“Are you a long way from home?” he asked.
She smiled. It was a beautiful smile. “This is my home.”
“You live in the woods.”
“We live in each other; there’s an understanding that’s too deep to go into now, and I seem to have interested you, but interrupted your meal.
“I will go.”
“No, oh no, please, don’t.” He scrambled to get in front of her. “I’d like some company.”
“And your own is not up to the task?” she teased.
He chuckled. “I spend enough time alone that I don’t need anymore at the moment.
“Please join me.”
He offered his hand to help her up, and she made herself comfortable beside him, and he noticed that she really did seem quite at home in her bearing; there was no fear of him emanating from her at all.
He considered her enigmatic comment a moment.
“So you live here.”
“I do.”
“How is that possible?”
She didn’t answer him right away, but was looking at the lute he carried.
She reached toward him. “May I?”
“What…? Oh. Oh, yes, by all means.” He unpacked it and handed it to her.
“It’s a fine lute, much used.” With nimble fingers, she plucked a pleasant chord.
“…and much cared for, and loved.”
He shifted, just watching her, noticing how she played, and how beautifully she hummed along.
She stopped, smiling at him. “Eat, troubadour. I will play for you.”
He ate.
As she played, she hummed a perfect harmony, clean and sweet, and he stopped eating and closed his eyes.
His heart seemed to keep time.
Soft wind blew tendrils of her hair across the contours of her smooth face, lifted now to the westering light.
A memory of hi mother’s face, smiling down at him as he sat on her knee, singing as he played…
“That song,” he whispered. “From my childhood. How could you know?”
He looked, but she was no longer beside him.
She’d taken his wineskin and was drinking from it, but not putting her mouth to it.
She finished, and laughing, wiped her lips on the bell of her sleeve.
“Singing is thirsty work. I am Soyala.”
She handed the wineskin to him, and as he drank, he found that it was soemthing fruit flavored, with a hint of honey.
He didn’t know if it was wine, as such but it was heady.
“What are you?” He stoppered the skin.
“I am what you want me to be, my young troubadour.”
The reply opened up for him a world of crude possibilities he could say, but her bearing would not brook such insults, and they died stillborn on his tongue. She had an ineffable quality that intrigued him, even though it slightly annoyed him.
He ventured a smile. “How about my patron?”
She laughed, not at him, but clearly amused by the remark.
“Anything but that, good sir. The rifts between friends when such things are undertaken are the stuff of legend.”
He laughed as well. “I would have to agree. Soyala, you sing and play beautifully.”
“Thank you.”
He took another pull of the exotic elixir, looked out at the river flecked with sparks of sunlight.
“You have questions,” she said.
He nodded. “Many.”
“I could answer, but you have not understood even the simplest of them.”
“That you and the woods live in each other.”
She smiled approvingly. “Your memory’s good.”
“It would have to be to do what I do. That was the simplest? You don’t just mean that you live here, and are familiar with your surroundings, you mean they’re somehow a part of you.”
“Yes.”
“I won’t pretend I understand, and I’ll probe no deeper for today, but I’d like to return sometime to talk with you.”
“You are welcome here. Tell me your name.”
“Teirtu.”
She laughed, and he smiled, knowing why.
“That is what you are called, but not your name.”
“You have the right of it.”
“Does it pertain to you, or your profession?”
“All stories are essentially lies, Soyala.”
“In their essence perhaps, but at their core, there is always a seed of truth.
“You intrigue me, Teirtu; your name is a riddle.”
“Do you like riddles?” He handed her back the wineskin.
“I do.” She drank and gave it back.
He smiled again. “We’ve essentially kissed.”
“But at the core, we haven’t.”
He laughed. “We could make it true.”
She tilted her head, her eyes amused.
“You’ve had your meal, and song, and wine; there is no need for you to linger.”
“The trio’s not complete.”
“Trio?”
“Wine, song…woman.”
“Ah. That trio. A bard’s love is plural.”
“I’m not interested in plural.”
She walked up close to him.
“I’ll not kiss you, Teirtu. You’ll need a reason to return, and if I give you what you desire, you may not.”
“What if I promised?”
“The promises of men are breath, nothing more, and the promise of a troubadour…”
“Less so. Yes, we do have a bad reputation, and not undeserved.”
He stepped away.
“I’ll walk with you to the road.”
“I’d like that, Soyala.”
She reached for his hand.
********************
“I will write a song for you.”
“I will hear it when you sing.”
“Kiss me, Soyala.”
She touched his cheek, and leaned in, and he closed his eyes, but the kiss never landed.
When he opened his eyes, she was gone.
He chuckled and shook his head.
“You are a riddle of your own, Soyala.
“I will return to solve it.”
Come you from the shadows, priestess?
Do you now take my confession that
thoughts of you
make me restless?
Come you in the starlight, priestess?
Are you corporeal, that I might
hold you and fulfill
my longing?
Or ethereal, that I might
dream forever
in vain?
Come you now at eventide, priestess?
Do you now reveal your true form
to the unworthy wretch
who worships you alone
in the empty temple
at night?
Come you now at midnight, priestess?
Will you mock and laugh
and point in scathing
amusement
at the burden of love
I bear you?
Come you now to dance, priestess?
Doffing dark robes,
pretending you’re alone
while dancing
to the rhythm
of my heart?
Come you now to sacrifice, priestess?
Lighting tallow candles,
singing eldritch songs,
your slender, sacred fingers
on slender, profane knives
to split me, and read your future?
Or come you now as bride, priestess?
To honor me with your
presence in my life,
binding us together
forever in
shadows?
Beyond Panic 