Chain LinkNow ice cold iron,
frozen in molten glory.
Once a sleeping stone.
A stone held in place,
the Earth encompasses her.
Beloved by the soil.
Dreams of Creation,
soon a delightful voyage.
But for now relaxed.
Never hold back her desire.
Stone turns to armor.
Frozen WorldFrozen beneath the ground lies the clock.
She ticks on quietly, keeping pace with the wind.
Her heart is a finely tunes engines made long ago.
On each hour she sings to the icy sky.
Her melody sounds against the ice,
trapped within a sleeping world.
On will she tick, till her gears rust,
on will she hum till her bells crack,
on will she dream till she floats away.
For the pond has need of a lullaby.
What is Winter?What is Winter?
All it takes is one frozen drop.
One kaleidoscopic flake of winter
to fall gracefully from the heavens.
All I takes is one line of ice.
One explorer of a watery frontier
to freeze a trail into the deep.
All it takes is one green needle.
One sliver of eternal life
to steadfastly refuse to fall.
All it takes is one bright candle.
One luminous guardian of light
to hold its vigil in the dark.
This is all it takes…
The SiegeA heavy veil of scarlet dusk settles over the ash stone walls of Selgar.
Inside, the People grow weery of the on coming morn.
Men dressed in crimson robes, quickly thrown over vests of steel.
Shadows cover the charred earth as the talk siege engines block out the sun.
An old crone feeds her grandchild hemlock and a burly bartender locks his family in the cellar.
Two old men sit at a table, betting on the next race they know will never come.
The frantic people seek escape and protection. Others turn to denile.
But up on the rooftops grim archers lie behind shields that they know will fail.
The army of Bairne has arrived.
Shooting StarsTime to fall from shadows.
Masks guard the plain.
The Autumn of burning Souls.
Bright white they shine, illuminating hope.
They dance together. Intertwining arms link in molten joy.
Together their light stave's off the darkness.
A brilliant radiance of purity. Beacon of enlightenment.
Together they dance.
As dusk comes to meet the night.
The Beach HouseSoft whispers linger,
on his frozen lips.
White line of sand smells sweet.
His weapons lie across the floor, disarmed,
Silently he beckons on.
rough clothe cut short.
I thought I'd learned his inner soul.
But now I think,
I'll never know.
The Iron StoveThe cast iron stove sends heat to battle the snow,
it's fiery sparks clashing with frozen stars.
"Did I smile?" asks the boy.
No voice answers as his tears run swiftly,
sustaining the red-bellied salmon that swim in the river of sorrow.
The stove sputters, her anger of old has died.
She recalls her troops, she sees through the eye of the storm.
The boys tears fall faster and he shivers with cold.
His frost-bitten fingers fumble with the lighter.
The lady of winter settles, her ice-white children fill the pipes.
His lighter meets the oil can and the fire reluctantly comes- it comes, burning the timber and melting the ice and snow,
and the boy's tears melt away,
leaving this blackened hole of ashen doom.
Sitting on the mountain top,
I pick up the broken glass as my dream wanders through the mountain gardens of my shattered mind,
weeding out the weeds and planting flowers in their stead.