The Knight of the Faeries

I

A knight on the road to Avalon
travelling on a stallion bold.
His armor shone bright,
unending valor printed in gold.
Swords raised up high,
many followed him a blind,
but he hath no sword to carry nigh.
His weapon was not of the hand,
his arms were his tongue-
an orator with a power so grand,
many a people he did move.

Faeries plenty, trolls abound,
Ogars so ugly, mermaids tempting,
little green goblins with their magical sparks,
even demonic princes followed him around.
His mind was clear, a direction known,
his wisdom plenty to win hearts so cold.
Fearless he was in his ventures many,
daring enough to take the dreaded plunge.

II

But those times were dark,
bad magic in the air suffocated his people,
so the King of Avalon called upon the knight.
But as all knights have a rise,
they also have a fall.
The King-a humble faery knew not
the power of the mice.

The mice with their nibbling
hath deprived many a faery, crippling
their flight into oblivion.
“A grounded faery is a dead faery!”
The knight proclaimed in agony,
the faeries lamented.
“But a dead faery can’t be hunted,
a dead faery can’t be killed!”
The knight cried,
the faeries cheered!

But the mice are funny creatures.
They heard not the noise of any but the piper.
They sniffed and scurried to the ‘dead’ faeries dens.
They ate their food and squeaked them into madness.
The mice were smart too.
They knew who to thwart to win the war.
They broke the spirits of the faeries,
they broke the knight of the faeries.
At midnight, they squeaked and scurried
under the knight’s slumber bed.
They danced there in unison with
the mice in nightmares of the faeries.
They danced and danced and squeaked aloud.
They scurried about sniffing out the dream mice
from the slumber sand in the eyes of the faeries,
and sprinkled them in the eyes of the knight.

III

The knight saw nothing but mice.
Mice under his bed,
scurrying over his dinner,
sniffing through his kitchen,
but mostly he saw them in his head.
They were the sins in his mind’s sinner,
they were the pain in his heart- bitten.
The knight traveled in his dreams,
he lost sleep and gained nightmares.
His mind spoke in screams
as he lost all hope in faeries
and the faeries lost all hope in him.

The mice scurried through the mind of a broken man,
victorious in their sly cunning plans.

Of thoughts and wars. Of dreams and dreads. Of hope and the loss of hope.

Thoughts are endless.
I thought I would leave it.
But you evaded perception.
Surprises are surprising.
And you surprised the unsurprising.
I thought you would know.
I dreaded you would find out.
I wanted you to not to.
But you did.

Thoughts are endless.
I thought you would stay.
But you elude me now.
You leave before I leave.
The good die young.
The best leave early.
And you were the best of worst of the best.
You thought I wouldn’t know.
I dreaded to know.
I wanted not to.
But I did.

Thoughts are endless.
I thought they would diminish.
I thought these paths shall be cleared.
But thoughts are thoughts.
They are flimsy.
They are airy.
They can’t be caught.
They can’t always be brought to life.
We were defeated.
Our sword thrown down endless chasms of hopeless conjectures.
Our hope was crushed.
Our souls were beaten.
Tears were shed.
You never dreamed to see mine.
I always dreaded to see yours.
But dreams and dreads are all flimsy too.
Because we want tears not to be shed.
But they are.

 

Wheel of Life

Her wings were clipped,
helpless, she stood.
A reaper of death did
solemnly stand before her.
The scythe was raised up high
lightening fell from the sky.
Thunder struck her ear drums,
then the blade struck her flesh:
bone, rib, lungs, heart…
She fell. Tears bled from
eyes as black as the ocean at night.

“Faery of Thumberbath-
Immortal since Cumberbatch.
I declare thee dead.”

A/n: The image was retrieved from: http://www.layoutsparks.com/1/128274/grey-reaper-evil-scythe.html

Lunar Eclipse

I

Travelling through a land of tales
I came across a lady pale.
White skin, white hair,
she shone so bright
like the lunar queen of the night.

Entranced I stared at her
wise wasted beauty.
With fluid gesture
she summoned me to her.
I, stuck, almost a fixture
was released to move closer.

“What does a lady wizened
do in a land so treacherous?”
I uttered, my voice low,
my head bent
and my heart drumming.
But she smiled
a sad lonely smile.

“What does a child, full of youth,
do inquiring on  a lady ancient?”
Chastised, I lowered my gaze,
face reddening, I sealed my lips.
Her glowing holy face saddened.
Her unseeing eyes lost in a haze.

“I once lived on the sad side of the moon,
I used to spin a wheel of yarn,
embedded with my imaginings.
A beautiful man, disguised as a boon,
came across me in all his glory.
Tall, dark and handsome,
he was like the hero of some story.

He promised me eternity,
he promised me glory,
he promised me endless beauty.
I was tempted by his tongue,
I was enamored by his grandiose.
I was blinded into trust
and I was fooled into misery.

He took me away from Selene,
where I used to dwell alone,
and married me to Gaia,
where I now reside, so lonely.”

aaaa

II

Her sad voice crippled me,
I murmured, “He should rot
for lying to a woman such as you.”

Magnanimous laughter
left her throat.
A guttural sound,
so ominous,
made my soul shiver.

“Oh child, blame him not
for my misdoings.
A lie, he never told,
a promise, he never broke.
It was I, who was tempted,
it was I, who was fooled.
I ate the apple,
whence, he only offered.

He sucked my soul,
because I let him.
He made love to my desires,
because I asked him.
He took me away from craters
and brought me unto rivers;
showed me peeks, so high,
and valleys, so low;
made me kiss the green grass,
and listen to the Quail’s song.

I was in love with the idea of him;
I lusted after a life on Earth.
Many years alone I’d spent,
waiting for an angel like him,
to rescue me from the Lunar Queen,
and bring me to this Blue Rock.

III

I, in my haze of love and lust,
forgot about poor Selene.
Abandoned, she cried,
but no tears she shed.
Rage rippled through her soul,
but no fires were burnt.
She had nothing to give,
she had no power, to take.
Her borrowed light grew intense,
as she drew closer searching for me.

Storms frequented-
waters disturbed, winds blew,
lives disrupted.
Earthlings cried,
losing hope, abandoning sense.
“The wrath of Poseidon is upon us!”
They took my love from me,
sacrificing him on a cross,
claiming his dead soul
would sate Poseidon.

O! But what knew, they?
Naught of loyalty or love,
treachery or hate.
They knew only of survival,
of myth and hearsay.
Selene’s anger was for me,
she cared not for my love.
She entrapped me in her storms,
and lightening upon lightening
hit my heart, every bolt crippling me.
Nothing was fair, everything was,
even poor Zeus was bent and powerless
to the demands of a broken Selene.

IV

I was deprived of beauty’s sight,
of love and lust, of feeling at all.
My beauty was ripped apart,
sickened, diseased.
And this spinning wheel
was thrown right through
the eye of the storm.
I sit here and spin all day,
as I used to on the moon,
and Selene, the Queen,
stays sated for now.

I raise my eyes to the sky,
imagining a star shining bright,
hoping for their wrath
to rip me of eternity,
and deliver me to the land beyond:
where I can look upon him again,
the reason for all good and evil
in my existence till now.
They promise never to leave you
but that isn’t a promise to be made,
for no angel is greater
than the angel of death,
and no power greater
than the wrath of abandonment.”

She grew quiet,
perhaps, forgetting me.
I wiped tears from mine eyes,
and with a shattered voice uttered,
“But there is no power grander
than the power of love.”
She shook her head and laughed,
“And there is no illusion stronger
than the thought of dreams coming true.”

I shivered as the cold breeze hit me,
“You better be off, child.
Go find a dream worth dreaming,
and fool yourself too.
For this life is meant for the foolish.
Only the foolhardy live,
others just exist.”

Something in her words shook me
and I felt the urge to run.
Never looking back again,
I only heard a voice sing,
“Living is for the foolhardy,
existing is for the sane.
Life is just a sad party,
existence is but a pain.”

A/n: I hope you enjoyed my story, do let me know what you thought! 🙂
As always credit for the images need to be given: the beautiful images were taken from the following pages. 
http://www.fotolog.com/evanesciente2005/13848524/
http://morenoburattini.blogspot.com/2011/11/la-luna-di-traverso.html
http://kaialtair.blogspot.com/2011/12/long-dark-nights.html

Happy holidays in advance to everyone out there. Stay blessed! 😀

Fallen

I stood on the edge of a cliff so high,
raging tides my sole companions.
Lost in thoughts of here and beyond,
at first, nothing saw, these eyes of mine.
Then, with a flash from heaven, they caught a fall.
A dark silhouette fell so low
from heights beyond the highest of peeks.
And these eyes fell too, they fell with it,
they fell for it, and there was no return.

Mine eyes, treacherous, made my feet run,
following the angel of darkness from hell.
Broken, battered, fallen was he,
cushioned on rocks: hard, heavy.
These eyes drunk in his form:
broken wings, bleeding in the storm.
The heavens flashed and thundered
as his black eyes met mine.

One look from him was enough a promise
of heaven and hell he hath been banished from.
Those smoldering eyes held the essence
of moonlit walks, of unsung songs,
of anger and love, of beauty’s disgrace.
They held life, yet mine saw only death.

He reached for my hand. I let him have it.
He smiled a sad, lonely smile,
and my besotted eyes leaked.
“Doomed are we all, aren’t we?”
A raspy whisper my ears heard,
a spark plugged through to my heart.
It beat so fast, like a drum falling.
My lungs refused to breath,
my mind rejected thoughts,
and my mouth, my poor tongue, uttered
nothing but, “I am.”

Alas, it was too late; for he had already gone
to a palace better or a niche worse,
never hearing my next words:
“I loved thee for seconds few
but I loved thee, wholly.
They may come with odes new,
but my heart will remain with you, solely.”

A/n: The image is taken from the cover of Becca Fitzpatrick’s novel ‘Hush Hush’

Kidding?

Rage rippled through my veins
when you admitted
hating my dearest friend.

My wide eyes met yours
and you smiled.
“I was just kidding, honestly!”
Your reassurances held
more conviction than
the words of an honest man.

Yet, we both knew
that ‘kidding’ was not
what you had just done.

Why insist on staring me down
with that awful sweet smile?
Why persist on serving me
when you don’t want my company?

Because, we both know
that ‘kidding’ was not
what you had just done.

You try to make amends to your faults
through jokes and laughs.
I sulk.

No one can tell when you’re serious
and when you’re not.
I’m transparent.

But still, we both know
that ‘kidding’ was not
what you had just done.

A/n: The image does not belong to me =P
It was retrieved from here :D—> http://www.jamesaltucher.com/2012/08/the-trillion-dollar-lies/

On Losing

You think of me; I think of him.
You picture me; I picture him.
You want me; I need him.
You dream of me in all my sweetness;
I dream of him in all his glory.
You hate me for not loving you back;
I resent him for not noticing me.
And we both think that he is, perhaps,
the luckiest bastard on the planet!
Yet, no one notices his sad smiles,
and no one pays attention
to the depth in his depressed Joy.
Sometimes, no one wins
and everybody is a loser.

 A/N: Written ages ago, but still applicable… =/ The beautiful art does not belong to me. It was taken from here: http://justjanga.blogspot.com/2011/01/love-triangles-and-daisy-bellamy.html

Metamorphosis

I was flying so high,
up above the sky
when you pulled me down
into the sea to drown.
Care you not for my dreams?
They are obvious, or so it seems.

I was a free bird with a wish
and you turned me into a fish.
I knew nothing but swimming around,
dreaming of a sky above ground.
Soon, I came to terms with the sea,
but then you shaped me into a bee!

I had been a fish, silenced,
never a sound had I uttered.
Now, my own buzzing
gave me a headache so killing.
Flower to flower, I moved about.
Sick of myself, internally I did shout:
“Oh Providence, the cruel, you gave me nothing!
I wish, for once, you would change me to something
deserving of my Greatness
for the world to witness.”

A sinister Voice called back,
which I heard, scared, taken aback.
“Thy greatness deserves to complain as much as thy can
so We shall turn thee into a man!”

The SHE

I don’t want to travel back to the summer,
the summer when I befriended the SHE.
So white, so perfect, so beautiful,
a faery she seemed.
But nothing perfect is ever beautiful,
and nothing beautiful is ever perfect,
I had forgotten:
Her wings had been clipped
so she stood on the ground.
I held on to her broken back
only to see those wings grow.

+++++++++++++++++Those spiky things were
+++++++++++++++++silver with tiny scales.
+++++++++++++++++So elegant, so graceful;
+++++++++++++++++sharp as knives in hundreds.
+++++++++++++++++As I held on, the wings grew
+++++++++++++++++piercing through me,
+++++++++++++++++drawing blood and flesh
+++++++++++++++++out of my being,
+++++++++++++++++setting the SHE free.

My Dark Angel

You slithered into my heart
you sneaked in through the back door.
You shut the door and swallowed the key,
locking us in a beating drum.
The air was hot, filled with blood,
I couldn’t breathe, and you:
you were there, an intruder,
smiling cheekily at my expense.
The drumming grew louder, faster,
it felt like death had stepped in.
But the door was locked?
And then, I looked at you:
You were death-a dark angel,
beautiful, eternal, impossible.
You were squeezing hard,
shutting off my veins—
a few beats, the drum missed.
I shook my head, I begged.
You smiled, a cold hard line.
You made me cry out.
I screamed.

There was pain—short and sharp,
and then there was nothing.
No beating, no drumming,
just dark, eternally dark.
Empty? Broken? Hurt? No!
There was just darkness,
there was just an end.

The Witch’s Cottage

The clock struck one
and the mouse came down
and went to the witch’s cottage.

Scurrying about, it
circled around two
lovers in the witch’s cottage.

Past two portraits
of wizards unknown
hung up in the witch’s cottage.

Up the stairs: crickety creak;
down some cracks: ticket-a-tee,
cluttering the witch’s cottage.

The clock struck twelve
and time moved back with
a cackle in the witch’s cottage.

The mouse stopped short
squeaking aloud, bleeding away
slowly in the witch’s cottage.

Two short screams.
Silence abound, broken with
a cackle in the witch’s cottage.

A green light shown,
smoke filled round,
engulfing the witch’s cottage.

Disclaimer: The image belongs to AngiWallace not me! 😀

The Banshee Lover

You, a woman of epic beauty:
long silver hair, shining under
the golden sunshine, brought
much devastation in my world.

A quiet soul, I was, living on my
own. You destroyed me.
They warned me of your
monstrosity. I shunned them.

I waited for the owl’s hoot
every midnight: my ritual.
My ears awaited your shrieks,
your wails. I prayed they’d
never recede, as someone’s
soul was delivered to hell.

Howling, moaning, screaming,
your voice imprinted on my
heart and soul. You owned me.
With every wail I heard,
a spark of dark, black flames
ignited. My soul turned to ash.

I prayed for you. I prayed to you.
My soul sold to the devil.
I screamed in my slumber.
No rest ever came hither.
I begged to catch one glimpse
of your deathly countenance,
and the sadistic heavens
nothing did, but listen.

They say beware of your heart’s
desires, but from the start,
it was already too late.
You came for me, my sweet.
You came for my soul’s heat.
Screaming and wailing at my gate,
you found nothing but a
cold hard stone heart.

I had nothing to give you,
you had nothing to take.
Ironic, isn’t it? You destroyed me
by failing to banish my soul-
so tainted by your love,
even hell rejected its darkness.
You were my life, I was your death.

Many a medals they gave me.
Brave, honorable they called me.
Little do they know, that I was
a devastation they should fear,
not honor: the banshee lover,
the banshee killer, the banshee
destroyer, the banshee’s betrayer.

Disclaimer: I do not own the artwork. It is “A Friendly Banshee; drawing by H.R. Heaton” retrieved from http://anna-marie-bowman.hubpages.com/hub/The-Banshee–An-Irish-Legend