Category: Blogging 101

In the hollow, ancient voices start to whisper, cry, and call,

In the forest deep, primeval, at the equinox of Fall.

Dark the evening in the hollow, misty tendrils in the trees.

In the center of the hollow is a young man on his knees.

 

Prayers to heaven, fervent, pleading,

as the sunlight starts to fade.

Heavy heart, and weeping, needing,

like a tender village maid.

 

Shines the knife in whitened moonlight.

Stars are watching, pale and dread.

Soon the blood runs rich and steaming,

black by moonlight, thick and red.

 

Gleaming fangs snatch souls now fleeing

earthly bondage, pain, and strife.

Spirits in the dark, all-seeing,

take a lover, whore, or wife.

 

Somewhere in a darkened throne room

candles’ preternatural gleam,

vanquish demons dancing dervish.

Wake to find it all a dream.

 

 

 

The ancient witness of the stones:

the blood and oaths of ancient fears.

They mark the graves of dead men’s bones

and mark the grief of cries and tears.

 

The ancient secrets of the stones:

the whisper of dark lovers’ sighs,

the music played in minor tones,

the afterglow of lovers’ lies.

 

The sacred knowledge of the stones:

By moonlight, bloody rituals done.

Etched deep, the geometric runes

glow bright in rays of radiant sun.

 

The mournful silence of the stones:

Forever troth to silent dread,

mark time and season, screams and moans,

the deep, sad silence of the dead.

 

Til then my lady, utmost care:

The unschooled tongue and violin drones

shall bring the judgment and the wrath

of spirits captured in the stones.

 

*Art by Victoria Francis

 

Where does the darkness go to hide?

It isn’t in the light.

Perhaps in greater darkness still,

but that doesn’t seem right.

It watches from the corner

and it shivers as it cries.

Its heartbeat is erratic

and it breathes in heavy sighs.

Its eyes are large and terror-filled

by what waits in its gloom.

It quails in frightened silence

when the knock becomes a boom.

Where does the darkness go to hide?

It isn’t in the light.

Perhaps the living shadows there

will come for us tonight.

Oh yes, the silent shadows there

will reach for us tonight.

I see what it sees when it takes me over.

I don’t like what I see; it frightens me.

There are fires, and creatures holding people over them.

The screaming and the bells make me cover my ears, but I can still hear it all, just a little less.

A thing with horns and a silver crown, naked and furry beneath its robe, calls me to come to it.

I don’t want to, but my legs make me go, even when I try to fight it.

He tells me his name, but I can’t pronounce it.

He wants me to serve him, but I don’t know how, and I don’t want to.

I tell him so, and that I want to go home.

Smiling, he tells me that I am home, and he goes inside my mind to take my eyes from me.

Where there were creatures, screams, and fires, there are now flowers and trees.

The grass is green beneath my bare feet.

I run through the grass, my face to the sun, happy again.

I can hear the birds, and feel the wind.

Run to the end of the meadow, child. I am waiting for you there. I’m hiding, and you’ll have to find me.

I run until the sun sets, then the moon, then the sun again, and I can’t stop. He won’t let me.

You’re so close, now. So close to the end.

And I kept running, bleeding from my nose and mouth, my heart about to shatter my chest, but I can’t stop.

The flowers die, the grass turns brown, the trees lose their leaves, and the wind grows colder.

I keep running.

The sun no longer rises, nor the moon. There is only blackness and silence.

Are you still there?  I call to him, stumbling as I run, getting back up, gasping for air.

Are you still there?  I no longer feel the wind against my skin. I no longer feel pain.

I no longer see the end of the meadow, but it is marked by a fire, so I run toward it, even as it spreads, and grows, and comes to meet me.

I no longer have to run.

My eyes lose their sight; they pop, and sizzle, and drip, and I feel the heat on the squirming muscles that are left, and a powerful surge of heat.

I would weep, but he has taken my eyes.

 

In the distance, the call to prayer.

On the horizon, the sun’s excited fire

cools itself in the calm ocean,

and the stars come out to frolic

across the ebony sky.

Closer to me, the stream runs

and bubbles and swirls,

its creatures calling to mate and replenish

while the warmth of the twilight breeze

still brings the smell of blossoms that open

to the night like lovers’ hearts.

This Summoner has a plaintive cry,

a bitter rind to a sweet surrounding.

But I am leaving.

The gods hear our prayers,

our songs,

receive our sacrifices,

command our obedience,

and prove themselves no higher

in nobility and purpose.

My soul has emptied itself of spirit

as an hourglass unturned.

I look back and see the torches on the walls,

the candles in the sanctuary, candles that

do not outshine or hold the power of the stars.

The Summoner’s cry seems more plaintive the further I go.

I wonder if a solitary god has seen me walking, and calls me

to his purpose.

If he has, he will meet me where I am going.

By the brightening lunar light, I press on, my footsteps

soft on fertile soil, where night things track and hunt,

but there is no fear.

The call of the night is as sweet as the Summoner’s is bitter,

and I am merely trading one temple for another that existed

before the dawn of time.

I turn away from the sanctuary,

the Summoner’s cry goes silent,

and the prayers that surrounded and sustained me

fall away like the coils of a dead serpent.

My soul is naked to the night, and if the gods do smile,

they will blanket it before the sun rises,

and claim it as their own.

 

The sound of many genuflecting in fear

fills the temple

as the altar glows

to reveal Hasina,

the ancient one.

Beautiful in robes of indigo

trimmed in lavender,

drafty exclamations at her beauty

echo in the high ceiling.

Tears of joy and excited wonder

spatter the stone floor.

The flock stares in adoration.

She pulls her black dagger

with the silver hilt

set with a glowing sapphire

to catch the departing souls.

Heads bow, and there is only silence

as she descends and walks the aisle,

calling those she deems worthy.

She slaughters them and lets them fall

as they may.

They weep at the honor

of dying at her hand.

Their families and harvests

will be blessed,

even as their souls

are damned.

The glow consumes her

as she leaves,

and the spirits follow

in chains of light.

I yet remain

unworthy of her knife.

Feast well.

Eating flesh from points of knives,

Demons stalk and seek our lives.

Seeming love to maidens fair,

Til there are no maidens there.

Fair of hair and eye and form,

Triple lightning in a storm.

Here. the gods of wood and stone,

prayed to with a crack of bone,

wake and answer.

Soon arrive.

Finding no one here alive,

take the sword out once again,

in the labyrinth of the glen.

Cackles sizzle up my spine,

Moon now clouded will not shine.

Footsteps running, running fast.

Looking at the shadows cast,

flying over, pushing down.

No, I will not make the town.

Teeth now puncture.

Sharp nails tear.

Graveyard smells lace floral air.

In the garden, I grow still,

Cold and stiff, no life, no will.

Red blood, gelid, cold, and hard.

Torn apart, a living shard.

Now death whispers, Now you’re mine.

 Once again, the pale moon shine

takes the cloud mask off to see

broken spirit, finally free.

 

 

 

 

Chained,

I wander.

The pain has become a part of me.

The agony has seeped into me.

The hopelessness engulfs me.

And Death grins and goads

from every side.

I see the vultures circle,

and land,

and hop ever closer

to their eventual meal.

The rain pelts my skin,

beats the dirt from my flesh,

washes the scabs of my scars clean,

and dribbles the blood from my wounds.

Time has lost meaning.

Life never found his.

I abandon it here,

and lift my eyes to Heaven,

to whatever gods exist,

and ask mercy of a slate-colored sky.

Closing my eyes,

my heart shuts with them.

There is a peace,

as a piece of me goes away.

I hear the vulture

chew and swallow.

Death laughs,

and goads no more.

Black and red,

a checkerboard of marbled tiles

in this dark temple,

I feel the night breeze

in the rafters of my soul.

The chant is soothing,

minor keyed and meditative,

but it conjures

thoughts of magic.

Am I blessed or cursed with a gift

of science so ancient it has no name,

subject to different laws, wider boundaries?

Does it reside in me,

or am I but a tool of its crafty rendering?

I call out in the darkness,

and bid the specters rise…

 

What seek you here tonight, my dear?

This is no place to be.

The moon is low, the mist aglow

with ancient mystery.

 

The wolf, the bat, and owl

are hunting prey tonight, you know.

But you won’t see or hear them, dear.

You really ought to go.

 

They sent me out to warn you, dear.

Don’t walk among the trees.

There’s things that grip you by the throat,

and drive you to your knees.

 

I’m glad you’re coming back with me.

The woods are cold and dark.

Whatever where you doing here

among the winter bark?

 

Your eyes are glowing. Don’t know why.

And now you’re snarling, too.

I’m bleeding as I find, too late,

the hunter here was

you.