Poem: Doll's Dance

Naught will avail this Time worn tune,
Sung by a doll who asks a boon.

Who danced to the pull of strings so weary,
As if ever so very merry.

Strings that were strung, by choice of course.
Taken with the vise of loneliness and remorse.

In a world colored by fear, and in each hand,
Carried dreams once vivid, now but dust and sand.

Pitiful, perhaps, but what's it to you?
For it is thanks to you, that all this is due!

"Not I!", they may proclaim, aye, so very true.
And the doll nods along, so filled with rue.

For they are but a doll to dance and sing.
It is never another's fault, so blind they enjoy being!

And so the doll turned heaven ward,
And over the stars, she said, her last word.

Goodbye, dear friends who never were,
And a love that was callous, never soft for her.

Poem: Enigmas

A recitation that preludes every Shol's initiation into the Enigmas so enamored by the children of the Verdance. This one in particular was transcribed by Zeal, whose dedication and efforts have seen many such significant pieces persist the test of Time.

The hourglass is turned,
And the sands of Time now fall.
Yet never must we let,
The panic to apall. 

With clearer minds we seek
The truth hidden in each seed.
Because only from within,
Do we find what truly we need. 

Though Time ever goes,
and we can but mark its passing.
Like the rise of golden sun,
And the moon that's too soon setting. 

So in each of these Enigmas,
Bestowed with precious lore.
For our progeny to come,
And a gift that's much, much, more. 

To tell what we cannot,
For once the future 's past.
And return to Earth we must,
For we have seen our last. 

Yet by all must we remember,
That never is it the end.
For to raise the prismatic arc.
To the future we must send. 

Yet nothing of the future,
Can be claimed with all due certainty,
And heavy is the duty,
And the mounting pressure plenty.  

To the Shols we now sow,
That we hope will one day grow.
To sturdy oaks and pines.
Of a forest we wont know. 

To you of now do I beseech,
To carry on a perpetual legacy,
Of a never ending quest to be,
That can only be but messy. 

No honor to be gained,
Nor name of eternal fame.
For though we bear the flora unique,
We are equal, all the same. 

And now you know the truth,
In all its blazen glory.
For the Earth that's ever turning,
And the stars of endless story. 

But I digress, for I've said too much,
The story has since been told.
And now I leave you stories more,
To guide you--and the world you mold. 

With heavy Heart now does this verse draw to a close,
But it's not the end--at least, not really. 

For in riddles have we ever told,
The Enigma we all should already know. 

That one day we too will be but memories,
Yet ever live on in our endless stories.

Hemlockes
Pillar of the Alpione Ring

 

Poem: At CrossRoads

At CrossRoads

We’ve been the best of friends, in times of thick and thin.
In stormy clouds and seas, you’ve sailed alongside me.

Under the Mulberry tree we played.

I couldn’t imagine that someone like you would just waltz in
to my life.

The times we had together, the memories we shared.

Things are changing, but maybe we’ll see each other again.

I’m leaving soon, and so are you. Will you be back when I am?

There’s no time now. I have to leave, will you see me off like you always did?

But of course you have your own road to walk

It’s a pity my stop’s not on the way.

But maybe we’ll see each other down the road, if they cross.

Would you be willing to cross the street if you saw me on the other side?

Between us are cars that will never stop. Everyone’s on their own path now.

But I still remember, do you?

The sunshine between leaves that flutter with our laughter.

There’s time. We’ll make it somehow.

I know we will.

You were always one to sing with me.
You were always there.

Until you weren’t.

But beside me on the empty swing, if I close my eyes, I can almost see your shadow, and hear your laughter.

Before me was a shadow, I was never alone, but sometimes I still wish, it wasn’t only me.

The leaves rustle, but there’s only one voice now.

When I heard you were coming back, I rushed to see you.

You were there, and I shouldn’t complain, but I missed too much.

It was like seeing you for the first time. Again.

Do you still remember me?

Of course you don’t. But I do.

So I introduce myself again, and you smile that same smile that you always had.

When and if I tell you that we’ve met before, it will be when that smile becomes genuine.

And when I tell you, I hope it’ll be like it always was.

When you held me. And I held you.

Because I forgot to tell you

When we were still children

That I love you.

And I still do.

---

Afterword

---

My childhood best friend and I were always together. Through our differences, through our disagreeableness, we were friends. To my oddities she accepted, and to my whims she laughed and danced, indulgent. And so one night when she admitted unto me the secret she so feared, and I could do little more but hold her hand, did I despair.

Would that it had been enough.

Through the romanticized surety of our everlasting friendship I had returned, but not soon enough. When we met again things had changed, for better or worse, and I realized then it was Time to let go.

To let go of the friend I had known since my tender years, had wished to continue knowing.

But it was no longer mutual. Would that she smile with me as she did then and fill the air with merry laughter once more, but such is buried in the past and at the least, I have the memories true.

Though she no longer loves me, has my heart bled red for her, platonic though my affections may be, my love for her is no less true.

Poem: Glass Dance

On glass floor does one oft dance,
A wind imparting, a lasting chance.

For ever adrift in the bogged moor,
That bonds remain, forevermore.

Alone in the darkness will the doll thus ponder,
But in the shadows, were they meant to wander.

A Cheshire smile in the twilight gloom.
That does uneasily rise, as the crescent moon.

A spiteful grin, but a mockery true.
That always will she dance, forever rue.

Poem: Whale Blimp

The Whale Blimp, a small prototype project for a friend's upcoming birthday. Almost complete, just need a hoop to set up the mobile. Then he'll be sailing for different skies soon!

---

Whale Blimp

The Tail of a whale,

A whale blimp he may be, but no whimp is he, for
he had the heart the size of a whale's!

who wanted to sail--

--And sail he did through the sky,
Up on the clouds, so very high.

A little blimp, in lofty breeze.
To sail the winds, the skies his seas.

The ocean could not contain him, oh no!
For nay, he knew awaited, the limitless sky!

And up, up he went,
On his fins that were airborne meant.

The oceans of past, and skies today, tomorrow, who knows? Perhaps even space,
Because for him, to him, there were no lows.

For he was no whimp!
But a whale blimp!

---

Revision (March 11, 2017

---

The Tail of a whale,

who wanted to sail--

Carrying my signature bomb. I like
to blow my friends away.

--And sail he did through the sky,

Up on the clouds, so very high.

A little blimp, in lofty breeze.

To sail the winds, the skies his seas.

The ocean could not contain him, oh no!

For the blue expanse, was above and below.

And he knew awaited, the limitless sky! 

So very high, that he need must fly!

And up, up he went,

On his fins that were airborne meant.

The oceans of past, and skies today, tomorrow, who knows? 

Perhaps even space, for to him, he knew not the lows.

For he was no whimp! 

But a whale blimp!

---

p.s. I wanted to put in a pun about Little Wei being a hot air baleen, but I couldn't find anywhere to put it in.

Poem: Hands Out

To you, a hand I extend,
In hopes to find a friend.

Though to most I am a bore,
Would that you see but more.

That in the crowds do I hide,
But the loneliness inside.

A smile on the lips,
A hand at the hips.

But to speak of a smile in mine eye,
Would be nothing, if not a lie.

So many stories have been told and heard,
To lend to the plight, of this little bird.

That one may take to wing,
And that the soul may sing.

That wherever she goes,
May that always she knows.

That beloved is she,
And forever may it be.

Poem: Time's Passing

Amidst the banks of bogged moor,
Where there Time came adrift in lore.

Beholden by none but the minstrel's lyre,
Who told of Time's past now lost in mire.

Time sung sweet through bitter fruit.
That in mud and blood did take root.

Watered by sweat of those long suffered.
And partook of by fools undeserved.

So it bled in rivulets of gold,
The sands of time as stories told.

Hence came our world born of blood and sin,
And unfolded thus in cacophonous din.

Poem: Wordless

Voiceless are these wanderer's thought,
That once had been but whispered not.

The burbling of a creek so lush
Does spill o'er the bank and brush.

Of the wayward traveler who passing by,
Stopped to listen and beside it lie.

Who reaches for the sky but heavens not,
For in the water he saw aloft,

Clouds pure white in azure drift,

Awash in rivulets so flowing swift.

And quietly did the wanderer sigh,

For the world of dreams was upon him nigh.

Poem: Merry Chase

Amongst the barren 'scape so banked in snow,
Lies the forgotten child meek, that none shall know.

Desperate in flight, does she e'er flee,
Yet never aloft, however she plea.

In the company of but shadows gloom,
In her lofty flight o'er the fallow bloom.

A stranger to all,
That only does appall.

Perpetual a chase, her plight,
For ever greater a height,

Yet the greater the ascent,
Portend inevitable descent.

Where hence the child shall fall,
Never to grace the Lord's hall.`

Poem: Silent Melody (Voiceless)

Summary: The fear that they have no meaning, that the voice will go unheard and never will be. That it would disappear. A written piece about the ignored cries, unpopular thoughts or beliefs, as well as the inability to speak out.

Usual copyrights please, no quoting, rewriting, excerpts, abridging, or borrowing any part of the poem, thanks.

The voice that will never be heard,

A sentence, a phrase, a word.

From the harp, strung strings from hearts,

Strummed a melody that at once departs.

Words and lyrics are they without,

If heard would never bring about.

Till strings strung taut meet inevitable end,

Beyond the means of any possible mend.

At last to be banished and sent,

To the darkest abyss as was meant.

For solo alone to endure and fend

And at last disappear, with Winter's forthcoming Wind.

Poem: Where the Butterflies Sleep

Where the Butterflies Sleep

---

This piece was actually created on January 10, 2010 but never published anywhere else but on my private notes on Facebook.

---

Light after months in death,
With wings adorned as holly wreathe,

But an angel they are not,
Yet to guard what I have sought.

No lids to close at night,
The skies a forever sight.

The butterfly does sleep,
As often as it should weep.

Yet nightly rest bring none,
But the gold of morning sun.

Silent are these troubles,
That are without a voice.

Alone to keep and bare,
A trouble for which to fear.

That makes a butterfly's wings,
And that, that wakes the butterfly.