All we have done
is that which
you
have shown us.
Here, in this cage,
in view of the sun and sky,
the wind puffs at my wings,
teasing like a
mischievous imp.
I cannot sing.
I will not cry.
And I will
not stop
pulling at these
chains.
And yet,
when I dream of
flying
with my brothers,
and finding a mate,
and hunting
on the high winds
of a glorious summer
Together,
you call us unkind.
All we have done
is that which you’ve
shown us.
The lovely eyes of Death were dark,
no white in them to see.
She passed me in the marketplace
and smiled and winked at me.
She fought me on the battlefield
but saw me safely home.
And holds my hand when traveling
as o’er the world we roam.
Revealing mortal wounds that we inflict on girls and boys,
Her laughter rings displeasing at whatever she destroys.
Sometimes when she is holding me,
she’s gazing at the sea,
but is the sunlight dying there for her,
or is it me?
I know one day she’ll look at me and say to me, “It’s time.
“So kindly end your story now,
and rhyme your final rhyme.”
Until that day I hope to fill the world
with works of worth,
Death’s lovely eyes the last I see,
ere I return to earth.
My childhood nightmare wants a kiss.
He would not be denied.
He chased me ‘cross the bitter winter sea
with rolling tide.
He chased me through the wooded hills
and though I tried to hide,
he wanted it so badly that he
hunted with a pride.
He chased me down from northern climes
into the humid south.
“Come here, my child!” he yelled downhill,
“and give me your sweet mouth!”
He chased me from exotic east
to more pedantic west.
He chased til I could run no more
and granted me no rest.
And so I turned to face him,
ragged, dirty, out of breath.
His face was moonlit, shining eyes
a glazed, glaring eldreth.
My childhood nightmare got the kiss
he would not be denied,
and as he touched my cheek he wiped
the dark, sad tears I cried.
I took his face in hands of love
and kissed him.
And he died.
Seeking succor from her dreams,
hear the restless vampire screams.
Dreams of stakes and silver knives.
Hunters harvest undead lives.
Tears of red in eyes of gold,
warm red blood and pale flesh cold,
turn to embers, ashes, dust.
Desperate hands through packed earth thrust.
Too late now, the gurgling sighs
sing the dirge as evil dies.
Now the victory light of sun
shines upon the chosen one.
But somewhere across the sea,
fledgling fanged ones now roam free…
I’ve waited, but not so very long.
The human life is lace before the cosmos.
You thought to elude me?
You locked the door?
I was amused to let you think you actually
accomplished something,
pleased to let you think
you got away.
You merely stoked my anger.
I simply lengthened
my patience,
even as I stoked the fire of
my wrath.
They speak of the foundations of the soul.
I will turn yours to rubble,
shatter you until
pebbles of bone fleck the marrow.
Your destruction will edify me.
And the fire you see in the distant sky
is yours,
and yours
alone.
Welcome home,
damnation’s
bastard
child.
The stars above me were legion, diamonds strewn across celestial black sand.
My breath was visible in the cold air, and a crescent moon crooked like a beckoning finger, leading me along the stony path.
The dark spirit that walked beside me was lost in her own thoughts.
“I don’t understand,” I said, breaking her reverie. “Surely you have others to choose from.”
She considered my words before she answered. “But you were the one who wept at how bereft of purpose you were; the Master has given you one.”
“It still seems pointless, telling the tales of things past, things dead.”
“It is, now. It may be that later, it makes all difference in the world.”
“I doubt that.”
“He can do it. Indeed, he already has, at this moment.”
“You would have me believe my own Master died for nothing?”
She laughed. “I would have you know that.”
“Is the soul then nothing, that one would risk his very life?”
“Believe as you will. Your fate is all the more intertwined with ours.”
We walked on in silence; it seemed she would say no more.
We went up the mountain path, me behind her, the gusty wind threatening at times to pluck us off and cast us down; but handholds were plentiful enough, some provided by those who’d gone before, others naturally formed.
“The dwelling is around the bend.”
Dwelling?
It was the mouth of a cave, one that I had to bend to get into, with the wind getting relentlessly restless, the sky black crystalline velvet behind a silver-white moon.
The dark spirit was docile, her dark robes barely stirring.
“I’m to go in there? Alone?”
“Yes. You’re to tell our stories..”
“For how long?”
Her smile was enigmatic. “I have to go, and you must soon get started. You’ll see that all has been prepared for you.”
“But how am I to tell these tales?”
“In verse. In story. It matters not. Each one will bear their tale, and tell you what you need to know.”
“And if I say no?”
Her arm extended. “Feel free to roam, but you’ll never descend from here.”
She waited, watching me. There was nothing more to say.
I entered the cave, found stairs descending, and walked what seemed endless flights until the bottom finally appeared. The ensconced torches that lit the way extinguished themselves as I walked past them, the only light from the eldritch one’s eyes and hands.
When I finally reached the bottom, there was a lantern placed on a meager desk with an ink jar, a pen with a black quill, shining with blue highlights, and stacks of journal books with blank pages.
The spirit emerged from the opposite side. “Come, sit down.”
“Spirit, I…”
She pulled out the chair, arching her brows.
I sat, and she turned the chair to face her.
“What do I do now?” I asked.
“You wait. You listen. You write.”
“But when will they be here?”
“When they are ready.” She took the pen from my hand, laid it on the desk.
“Be patient,” she said. ” I must go.”
“I’m to sit in silence?”
“Yes, if need be. They will come to you of their own choosing. Farewell, my friend.”
Bewildered and lost, I found myself giving way to a quiet despair.
“Farewell, spirit.”
She faded, and the cave got colder. After some time, my body began to shut down, reacting to the cold.
There was nothing I could do to stop it, and then I heard a whisper in my ear, though no one was there.
“In the beginning…”
BlackQuill 