My poems stem from a delicate heart and soul, coupled with a brain that thinks far too deeply into things. and a whimsical smile.
As of late I have given a lot of investment to my feelings, and the story they wish to tell, I evolve. With rhythm and words, with every day, every word, and every muse.
She was a child of many risks, that Shilah, ever since the night when she was born beneath the blue moon. I know because I saw it, for I see everything.
You see, when Anna was in labor, no one dared to leave their sealed homes. Nobody wanted the evil spirits to know that something was afoot in their tribe that night, but nevertheless, Anna bickered with her husband over birthing the child out in the river.
"But I must go, Nosh!" Anna said with a pained expression.
"No! You mustn't, Anna." her husband insisted. "I won't allow it, not before dawn."
"The baby cannot wait until dawn, Husband!"
"Then I will help you birth it!" the husband said, realizing how extreme that measure must be.
"What do you know about birthing a child?"
"I know that I don't know enough, but you can teach me how to help you."
"Please, husband." Anna implored, as she packed anything valuable she could find for offerings. "Please understand it's too late for that, I'm not asking this of you. I will go to the river and bear my child, with – or without – you."
"But there are white wolves at the river!"
Anna let out a cry, she had another contraction. "It is my choice, and I choose to risk it."
The two finally agreed one-sidedly and with haste that she was to venture alone into the river and deliver the child. Now, Nosh was a brave man, but even he did not have the courage to go with her that night, which meant she, alone, would have to bargain with the white wolves, whose fur radiated snow white beneath the rare, azure light of the moon. And thus, she did, on that fated night where the impossible would happen, and all throughout the night Nosh prayed for her safety.
“What is this?” Asked a wolf with glistening foam escaping its fangs.
“Dinner, of course.” Said another.
“Please! I—I came to make a deal.” The mother-to-be implored. “You must listen to me!”
“We must, you say!” The greatest wolf among them jeered, his fur was pure white and his eyes were of luminescent crimson. “You have come for my river, have you not? Tell me why we should humor you, so that I, the all-mighty Warg, king of the wolves, may be entertained before we feast!”
“Please, I brought o—offerings from the village, please—do not eat us!” beseeched Anna.
"Us?" The Warg inquired with a sly grin.
“I have a child about to be born, and I will do anything to birth it in the river. Please—There is no time to lose!”
The wolves laughed and howled at her plight malevolently – after all, to them it simply means a meal of two.
“Quiet!” The Warg growled. And silence fell around him. “The river means everything to us, we care not for your pitiful offerings. But I am a generous keeper, and as the owner of these waters, I will allow you to give birth in my river, but in return, we will demand a favor from your child, once in a blue moon. Are we agreed?”
It was a bad deal; a bad deal full of ulterior motives and malevolent intentions hidden between the lines, Anna saw it as clear as daylight, but agreed nonetheless. Soon after, the child was born healthy in the river, and her mother was eaten.
On the very next morning, a little orphaned girl, having no more than six years of life, walked into the valley; alone; wearing large clothing she found that was better fitting for a pregnant woman, Her hair was black, her left eye was pale blue, and the other – a deep hazel, and her expression – a different hue altogether. She had no memories at all; in fact, there was an air of innocence and fragility was about her; she was all skin and bones, and just as quiet. She was never breast fed: never slept as a baby would; she didn’t speak, but was transparent in her behavior. She never cried or laughed before, either. She was just…there, and that is what the tribe feared the most.
The Pau wau let out a hearty roar of laughter and all the eyes (including the child's) turned to him. “She must be one of our own, I can tell she is none other than the child of Nosh and Anna.”
The people were shocked by his claims, and Nosh the hunter—whose wife journeyed alone to the river the night before, but never returned— spoke up to the Shaman: “Pau wau, that girl can’t be my daughter! She does not eat; she will not speak; and does not focus. How could she be the child of a hunter like me? How could she ever learn to grow crops like Anna? This is a nothing child! Besides, my child… if my baby is even alive, she would have only been born yesterday, this child can already walk!”
But the priest took none of it. “The blue moon grants fickle omens, Nosh. This girl bears many souls within her, some are related to you, and they are blessed – you can see she has the ghost eyes. She can see into the spirit world, like a dog; a gift from the blue moon. She is not a single soul in either world, your daughter bears the souls of many on her shoulder, as well as one of an infant. Of this, I am sure.”
“But Pau wau–!” Nosh cried.
“No excuses.” The wise man walked away, giving the child a string of beads and teeth to play with. “Beginning today, you are to raise her as your own.”
Nosh glared at the nothing child, turned his back towards her, and cried, while the girl could do no more than watch.
Reluctantly as it may have been, Nosh did, in fact, raise the nothing child as his own. He named her Shilah, (“–a boy’s name,” as some pointed out.) The other villagers were weary of them. In the day, Nosh took care of her simple needs: she was fed, she was clothed, and she was cleaned, like a baby. Except she never really cried like one. He learned quickly that she had an affinity for sharp objects, and for bleeding. One time, he left briefly for a gathering and returned to find his hunting tools scattered everywhere, while Shilah was biting herself and sucking her own blood as it dripped from the cuts on her knuckles. Since that night, when she would try to grab hold of a sharp object, he understood it as her way of asking for something. which meant the hunter had to keep a watchful eye on her at every moment the girl was awake.
When Nosh took the girl hunting with him, she would wander off. When he asked her to collect corn for supper, or water from the river, she would always return empty-handed, filthy and full of scratches and bruises. Nosh discovered rather quickly that Shilah would eat anything; this was thankfully convenient, if at times scary, as she would much rather eat the inedible than a good meal with squash, corn, or beans. From the beginning he had to feed her -real food- in small portions, as she was all skin and bones when they found her. In the night, he longed for poor Anna, and for his unborn child, and he cried himself to sleep.
Not a single man, woman or child in the village could ever forget, or even sleep on the night when Shilah spoke her first word, at around age nine, one could only assume. The word she spoke meant “White wolf”, and she said it many times that evening. She, too, stayed awake that night, and overheard Nosh who was at a loss and trying to make sense of it with the shaman.
“I am telling you, Pau wau, this child is not human.” The hunter pressed his concerns without even trying to hide his frustration from the nothing child. “No one has taught it of white wolves before!”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” The shaman sighed. “But even so, she is one of ours, and this can only be another omen.”
“What omen, Pau wau?” Nosh furrowed his brow. “This creature is not one of us! What if it wakes up hungry one night and eats me?”
“Nosh, you deeply disappoint me, I can’t believe you would associate your own daughter with a man eater, or a wendigo.”
“Shilah. Is not. My daughter; i-it can’t be my daughter! My wife and child were murdered, and that monster probably ate them!”
Nosh argued back and forth with the priest, and the further it went, the louder their voices and emotions fought, and the worse Shilah felt about herself as she listened to the grownups fight because of her. She could hardly speak but boy, has she understood with great clarity. She indeed understood better than anyone else that her own father thought she was tainted and dangerous. Even if the priest defended Shilah, her beloved father, who always looked after her, did not.
That night, after the Shaman left, Nosh looked at the girl and sighed, and she looked at him.
“Your face… it reminds me so much of her.” He said, and her gaze did not budge. She knew he meant his wife; her mother.
“But you are not her, and you will never be.” Shilah lowered her head and tried to chew at her hand.
“Do you know something about that, Shilah?” She nodded.
“Then tell me!” Nosh demanded.
“White wolf.” She repeated what they heard her say several times that evening, but then she said something new with hands extended wide in the air. “Warg!”
Nosh had remembered that name very vividly from a local hunter’s tale. The undefeatable wolf spirit who crossed the sea with an unrelenting hatred for humans. He rules the river when the moon sheds an azure glow. He drinks from the blue moon water to become stronger, and he preys on the vulnerable as one would a delicacy. If there was any doubt before, he understood Shilah clearly – Anna is dead, a victim of the Warg and the white wolves, despite the offerings to plead for their mercy. But why would they spare the child?
Nosh then asked, trying to understand, “But... if it were the wolves, why are you alive?” To which, unfortunately, Shilah could not answer. Her silence made sense to Nosh: she couldn't possibly have a reason, because that wasn’t his child.
Shortly after that evening, war broke out between the tribe and the pale-skinned men from across the sea, who claim to come from the land called “Europ”. They have been claiming territory across the land using loud, unholy weapons far deadlier than bows. Since that night, Nosh became much more distant, yet much stricter towards Shilah. He tied her wrist to his arm with a rope to make sure she would not go anywhere or do anything without his consent. Likewise, Nosh had been estranged from the rest of the tribe over time, not for this oddity daughter anymore, but because word spread of how poorly the father regarded her. She tried to gnaw on the rope, as the hunter predicted, but he smeared ground chili on the rope beforehand. The hunter’s daughter would had eaten many things, but she didn’t like spicy foods in the least. Nosh had Shilah show him where she came from: she led him to the river, not far from the battlegrounds, and in the mud at the bottom lay rotten bones of his wife, picked clean of flesh. Nosh could just barely recognize the moss-covered, fish-eaten offerings she must have carried with her, not far off from the corpse. Shilah said nothing, and neither did Nosh. But a voice in his mind spoke to him: It was her. She did it and now she blames the wolves, she is the one who ate Anna and covered it up. He was a great hunter, a loving husband, and almost a father, before it came along. No matter how much evidence she might show him, he could never accept Shilah as anything more than the monster that tore his life apart, much less his blessed daughter, may her spirit be at rest.
As the tribe prepared for battle, Nosh refused to fight the Europans if he "must also keep the monster close to him", he did not trust her not to eat him in a moment of weakness, when told that tying her to him was his choice he denied that it was relevant. The priest offered to watch over her, and take her in as his apprentice, which Nosh again protested:
“Unacceptable! Shilah will have fourteen years tomorrow, yet she is still incapable of holding a needle without harming herself! She cannot hunt or work the land. She cannot sew. she cannot cook or defend herself. She eats things that aren’t meant to be eaten, Pau wau! And yet, you want her to inherit your role as our spirit guide?”
“The very fact that she sees spirits that we cannot is proof that Shilah needs to learn more about the other world. As you said, she’s not a huntress, or a cook, but she can be a priestess, perhaps she would be a shamaness chosen by the moon herself.”
“You want to handle her so much, then do with her what you will, but I will not accept her as your successor!” He hollered and blasphemed, untying the rope on his arm and tossing it at the Pau wau before storming out of the tent. Shilah could only watch, quietly wondering, what on earth was wrong with her?
Under the watchful mentoring of the great Pau wau – or Muraco, (as he modestly preferred she would call him) Shilah began to practice more peaceful, meditative rituals, but found much difficulty trying to understand them, much less finding any sort of calm or truth within, even with the aid of herbs. And then, as she was effectively sixteen and two months, she began to behave less like herself.
“Muraco?” she said, quivering in the middle of the cool spring’s night.
“Yes, Shilah?” he asked, not quite willing to wake from his sleep.
“I had a bad dream.” Shilah said nervously. “It was so vivid, Muraco. I saw big white wolves, digging holes in the burial ground of the men from beyond the sea.”
“That is rather strange, you are right. But the Europans are our enemy, Shilah.” The Pau wau sat up from his bed, wiping his eyes. “Why was it a bad dream?”
“I heard voices of pain in their burial ground. And the moon turned blue, and the wolves were hunting the ghosts... my mother was hunted with them.”
“D—Did you just say the moon was blue?” The priest said in fright.
“yes, and when it did, I…—"
she was about to say " I stood among them," but the Pau wau interrupted. "This is a very bad omen, my child. A gravely ill omen. The white wolves command the forests, the river and everything else beneath the blue moon.” Muraco said with fret. “And your dream tells me that the blue moon is coming! We must prepare!”
“But what about the ghosts?” Shilah Protested.
“I am worried about the ghosts too, child,” Muraco caressed her hair gently. “But I fear there is nothing we can do about it right now– those burial grounds are in enemy hold. Now, get some sleep, I’ll tell the leader and we will arrange a gathering tomorrow night.”
“Can’t you tell him now?”
“They’re all asleep, child, like you and I should be.” He tried to lay back again but he still felt Shilah leering expectantly at him for minutes afterward.
“Why don’t you tell them about it yourself?” Muraco sat up slowly with a slight “oomph” before he smiled at her. But Shilah just blushed and closed within herself. She could not talk to anyone else. Who would possibly listen to what she had to say?
“Perhaps, Shilah, I can teach you a simple incantation, I use it all the time, and you can use it to make people notice you, until you are no longer afraid to speak to them.”
Shilah agreed to that after some hesitation.
“Good, close your eyes,” And thus she did.
“Imagine the peaceful trees, and the grass on the hills blowing in the summer wind, with acorns, and flowers. Inside a tree bark, a spider weaves together a dream catcher that shines from the cracks of light with such perfection and beauty, the truest beauty the world has to offer. Imagine the spider is hungry, eagerly waiting for a fly to get caught in its magnificent web, he feels something was caught its snare, imagine the spider rushing and finding its prey – but it was not a fly like he had wanted, but a defenseless, rotten old bean instead.”
Shilah laughed with half-baked comprehension.
“Just like that, my child, but stronger!" Muraco shared her laugh joyously. "Do you understand, Shilah? When you need to be heard, when you feel like you have no control, keep that image of the spider and the bean in your heart, and just let out a big laugh, and others will recognize your power.”
The tribe has been at war with the men from beyond the sea for the longer half of the decade. Shilah laughed as the shaman taught her, and she slowly, but surely caught the attention of her tribe again, and even of the leader. At first, they thought she was laughing at them, but she told them all of her dream, and of what Muraco told her. The people had their doubts; even the tribe leader was unsure what they should do next, and they ultimately decided to prepare their homes and make charms against the blue moon spirits. Shilah continued having that same bad dream: each time in more gruesome and memorable detail. She would see those ghosts scream and bleed, she would see the ghost father – myself, rended piece by piece from the fangs of the Warg. She would awaken in the middle of the night, when the moon climbed to its zenith, screaming and quivering in fear of what will happen to the spirits, and in waking up she would violently throw anything she could reach. Muraco wanted to stop her, but was possessed by an otherworldly force when in these nightmare trances, and no amount of meditation or cleansing could soothe her; not even his finest dream catcher would purge her of this curse.
And then, one night, the blue moon finally rose once more. The people of the tribe hung their charms by the entrances to their tents, and slept early that night, praying that the evil blue moon spirits will not find them. But when the azure moon reached its zenith, Shilah rose from her bed quietly. and she walked silently eastward—towards the battlefields; towards the river, stopping only to steal Nosh’s bow and arrows forcefully, and to take his shovel.
She walked expressionless to the river, with her left eye glowing in sky blue luminescence as it reflected the moonlight. It was there, that the white wolves awaited her.
“We meet again, child.” The Warg greeted her, he was more massive and fierce than in her dreams. “You remember uncle Warg, don't you?”
She said nothing.
“I heard from the river that you never grew up, and that you were scaring the village with your desire to bleed, like we wanted you to.”
“I…I have.” Shilah said, averting her gaze.
“Wonderful.” The Warg grinned, the other wolves licking their lips around him. “The river also told us that you have been practicing magic, under the good will of the foolish Pau wau, is this true?” The girl nodded reluctantly. “That is good. Now that you fulfilled my first request, we have an urgent task for you, child. There are outsiders among you, hunting our kind, and our prey, as if we were ‘equals’. We. Are. Not. ‘Equal’ with you creatures!"
The warg, after nearly having a fit, reverted to his noble composure.
"As I was saying, we waited for you ten of your years, patiently, waiting for the blue moon to rise again, so that tonight, you will fight as our warrior. It is your destiny! Soak your weapons in the river water, you will come with us to their sacred burial grounds. tonight, you shall put a curse on them, and all their descendants, while we will feed on their dead. that is the deal your mother made so that you could live, and you must honor it.”
Shilah began to tear for the first time, but bound by fate, she ultimately followed their instruction. She dipped her arrowheads in the river water, and her tears mixed with the stream, bestowed with the precious blue moonlight, and in a blink were lost within. Once the arrows glistened from the magic water of the azure-lit river, the girl and the wolves advanced to the cemetery.
Shilah tried with every fiber of her being to resist the dark desires of the Warg, but, unfortunately for her, she was never given the choice to begin with. In fact, all her life was governed by the wills of others – Nosh made sure she ate what he wanted her to eat; Muraco taught her only what he wanted her to learn; even the Warg was strong-arming her into doing his bidding through a display of magical dominance. She was always told the Europans were the enemy. They were the tribe’s enemies; and the wolves enemies; but why were they Shilah’s enemies? And even if they were, the mere thought of defiling their graves goes against everything poor Shilah had ever been taught about respecting life. The girl remembered the bad dreams from nights before, and witnesses in horror as they are about to come to life. Was her dream not on a night just like this, once, on a blue moon? Was that dream just another preordained binding from which there was no escape?
As they walked through the forest, it was very clear that the Warg was a force to be reckoned with, as woodland creatures of both this world and the land of spirits steered clear from being spotted by the white wolf king. But he could smell them all; he knew where they were, and he would be back for them later, that much she could tell from his greedy sniffing, growling and occasional self-satisfied howling. She recalled Muraco warn her once that the river and forests belong to the white wolves when the moon turns blue.
They approached the sleeping colony of the pale Europans from beyond the sea, and what Shilah saw over yonder hill was incredible. An azure glow emanated from the boneyard as ghosts – mostly of fallen soldiers, by this point,— played with one another in youthful bliss and reminisced about where, when, and how they died. Shilah wanted to play with them too, but had an intuition saying that she never will. She also observed that I, Father Time, being an old and weary ghost – far older than any other spirit there — could not quite discipline them all together, much less warn them that the enemy was near. Shilah kept crying, she wanted to scream as all this was becoming too much for her, but the Warg told her to stop whining, and she suffered in silence.
Meanwhile, on that same night, Nosh the hunter did not sleep either. He had a rude awakening when the possessed Shilah collapsed his tent on him and stole his bow. He had waited for this night for many long and painful years, since the moment Shilah took his family away and stumbled into his tribe. He waited for years for her to show her true nature. He had learned more and more about what happened that night so long ago. With spears prepared, he left his shelter, his haven from the evil spirits who cared not for the lifeless village, and he embarked to stalk Shilah and the Warg who murdered his wife, and hunt them both down.
Shilah, following the Warg and his pack, felt powerless. The only place to move was forward. The only words to say were those the Warg wanted to hear.
Nosh took aim, almost the ready to shoot a sharpened spear straight through the child’s heart.
She closed her eyes and remembered the words that Pau wau Muraco told her one night – a ridiculous story about a spider who found a bean in its web. And she laughed back then without truly knowing why. Well, now she understood the joke, and the truth behind it. She laughed despite the Warg’s control over her, for laughter was not something one could simply control.
Her laughter burst louder than a roaring bear, it's pitch higher than a falcon's call, and it echoed farther than the howls of wolves. It was heard by every man, woman, child and creature in the Europan settlement, be they alive or dead. Every spirit in Shilah’s body heard the laughter of the child’s soul too. Nosh withdrew his aimed spear in shock. Every ghost stopped their careless merriment and stared at Shilah. Everyone who slept that night, awoke and looked out their windows to see the cause of such wholesome laughter from the belly and heart so long past the witching hour. It was thanks to her ruckus that we could spot the wolves sneaking up on us in plain sight.
When the other ghosts finally saw the wolf pack, silence and fear fell among them. “What shall we do, father?” One of them asked.
“You will do what you have always done.” I answered with great chivalry. Even I wasn’t sure myself, but I doubted these foreign warriors would understand anything else. “We will fight, and we make our stand here!”
“What’s so funny, two legs? Stop this laughter at once! ” the Warg turned to her with his crimson eyes and snarled, but Shilah just kept laughing.
“You will pay for your disrespect. Kill her!” the Warg commanded, but the wolves would not act – they saw around them armed soldiers with pistols and rifles, behind them - ghost soldiers armed to the teeth. Villagers armed themselves with torches, farming tools, garlic and salt at the sight of these evils. Shilah also sensed her mother, somewhere among the spirits, but she never recognized her face.
“I’m not doing anything!” said Shilah, who’s laugh was subsiding. “And that is exactly the problem, great Warg. All my life I was a bean in a spider’s web. But for just one blue moon, I will not be a bean! I will be the tree that will blossom flowers and acorns, and I will shelter the spiders!”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” the Warg snarled. cornered, ready to attack.
“It means that you have no power over her anymore, because this young maiden is ready to be free and make her own decisions. From hereon in, she will lead her own life. ” I explained matter-of-factly, for I was the Father of Time, and teaching was my calling. “And you, Warg, are going to leave these forests and never return.”
The Warg saw his followers – captured. Their vibrant white fur and magic – dulled and relinquished, for they succumbed to their captives and reverted to being mere animals. But the Warg would not submit. He bolted out of the crowd, but not before killing two men with the mere swipe of his claws, and sinking his teeth into a ghost’s spectral chest, and crushing it instantly as the ghost faded away. He was shot, stabbed, sprayed with salt and soil. He ran wounded and blind for the woods – to the river. The water can guide him, and make him stronger than they were, it's only a matter of time, and he will be back for them, for the night was still young in the wolf king’s eyes.
Nosh witnessed what happened, and even he could see that the Warg was the behind it all. He followed the rustling in the bushes as the white wolf king ran with everything he had. Nosh hid well behind a tree, aiming carefully and quickly, and waiting for the beast to bow before the river. It only took a single well-timed spear to the heart before the great and all-mighty Warg fell. The great, white wolf’s fur, body and blood flowed in the river current all through the night, and was gone forever by sunrise.
The Europans debated amongst themselves that night, on what to do with the red-skinned maiden. They thought of taking her captive, but ultimately the man dressed with the most refined clothes, and tending to a white steed eventually made that decision for them: they decided to let her go. An act which, though did not fully enact peace between the settlers and the natives in its own merit, was an important milestone that marked the first steps towards harmony between the three worlds – Europ, the land of spirits, and, of course, this wild and untamed land, as the years went by.
Muraco resumed his duties as the pau wau with Shilah under his wing. Together, they accompanied their leader as advisors during negotiations, among other things, the tribe taught the Europans to work the land, and, for the future, to make charms against bad dreams, blue moon spirits, and everything in between. Muraco lived a fulfilling life until he eventually died from an incurable illness. both the people of Europ and his fellow tribesmen congregated at the loss of a good man. But he never fully left: his soul is present and vigil among us spirits, for he guards the river water with fairness never before seen on blue moon nights.
And as for Shilah, Muraco's demise was the most painful loss she had ever felt, but thanks to Muraco, she no longer had to face her struggles alone. She eventually became a new shamaness and inherited the Pau wau's stick. Now that she was forever unburdened by the white wolves, her learning was much easier. This was also because the tribe was much more willing to help her when she asked for it. Talking to other people became easier because they observed her wisdom, and took the time to learn how she communicated with them. She asked them to teach her simple tasks, in tandem with her other responsibilities, and they were happy to, once the people heard of her and Nosh’s story. Europan medicine fascinated her, so she dedicated her life to learning the ethereal secrets of medicine - along with her ever-growing spirituality. Shilah matured to learn many crucial lessons about life, both worldly and metaphysical–not because Muraco or the tribesmen had taught her, but because she appreciated and valued those teachings.
Nosh had never approved of Shilah's capabilities as a spirit guide, nor has he ever trusted her to hold a blade until the day he died. He was celebrated in his time as the hero who fell the wolf king, but the hunter left his tribe behind shortly after these events, on his own accord, with regrets he was too proud to ever admit. But he has told people of his story, and of Shilah, albeit in a more biased light than I have.
Well, he can twist the story as much as he wants, but those who heed the stories of Father Time are the only ones who know how it truly happened. The tale I spoke of has been told and retold many times by other people: they use other names, in other contexts, in other worlds. Perhaps one day you will recognize it's essence in the fables of other storytellers.
Now go, living one, and tell your loved ones, verbatim—of the miracle that happened on these grounds all those years ago. Tell them this story every year, and be thankful for it.
My work stems from a delicate heart and soul, coupled with a brain that thinks far too deeply into things.
This is the piece I am most proud of, I welcome you to read it!
Irrevocable memories----------Today 2:11 AM
----------Today 2:13 AM
You know I read your older
The ones that said how much
you loved me in a way;
on an evening
just like this
----------Today 2:17 AM
And yet although,
I remembered that your
Last year was so much fun
but then you had to go
without so much
as a kiss :[
----------Today 2:48 AM
It's cold, but I have so much
loneliness to burn...
----------Today 3:20 AM
Winning your affection
is a pipe dream, so I won't.
You never loved me!
I don't need you to return!
----------Today 3:25 AM
Dreams of the Weary CaptainPeaceful;
On the deck
Of a sinking ship,
Is it peace,
Or is it grief?
The Last Train From Destiny To FateThe warm air of the train blew fiercely at my face, as the sunset challenged me to reach out and grab it. A little child walks alone in the darkness, in fear of coming home.
I met up with a friend, we met back in the day, yet somehow, the more we spoke, the more I grew winded.
As every train arrives except mine, I'm late. A shadow sits by me.
"Don't you know who I am?" No, I don't, anymore.
"I am but the past." it clung to me like thorns.
It looked me in the eyes and promised me so: "I shall never leave you; and I will never change, carry me on your shoulders and be mine forever!"
If only I said no to it... if only it had asked first. But once you're on the train from destiny to fate, the last chance to escape means jumping to the tracks.
The Kiss of Yellowed TeethWhen we kissed that night,
your smile—brighter than the sun;
I kept mine eclipsed.
OPENING UP LITERATURE COMISSIONSHi everyone! My name is Nathan, AKA :iconPrinceZahn: PrinceZahn . I see some free time in my future so I think it's a good opportunity to practice writing on demand. I take pride in my extensive vocabulary and patience when working with people, and will write poetry, song lyrics, and short stories and dabble in fan-fiction once in a blue moon. I especially offer my services to those who know what they want to say but can't quite put it into words. I accept points.
Assortment of things that excite me,, in no particular order:
*Genres: Emotional, Comedy, Romantic, Slice of life, Fantasy (Particularly Medieval, modern, and "Gaslamp" fantasy,), worldly folklore, gothic horror (but nothing TOO scary) animals and Nature, historical (Western History), Supernatural/magic, Supeheroes(though my knowledge of them has gaps)
*Music (primarily: rock n' roll, soft, country/folk, world music, pop, indie rock)
*for anything else, ask me, I'm pretty ope
Prompt: Angels - Those Who Watch Over UsEvery morning I am greeted
by one reborn each time defeated
Strong enough to scare away,
those who bring his friends dismay
always, Gabriel, you I trust
to protect us.
In the afternoon I hear
suffering and dying near
Raphael, you heal and cheer
and a can of beer
you saved his life, but long your place in heaven,
yet on earth you modestly remain.
toughest of them all
has a place in my heart,
he comes to me at night and starts
to train my patience - play me like a fiddle,
embraces me so I can feel his sighs; a timeless riddle.
I do not believe
in some greatness I was born to achieve,
and yet the angels are everywhere,
even as I comb my hair
to get ready to leave tonight
they watch over us and teach us what is right.
they watch over us
with their selfless insight.
Bilingual BeautyShe walked into the store
Never seen before
She spoke in tongues
On the phone, as if she sung
Her fragrant coconut shampoo wafts through the air,
And evokes tropic memories that prior weren't there
I wanted to ask
But was I even up to the task?
Perhaps I might...
If she could stay in sight
For just a little longer
So I could say it stronger,
What if I don't have the guts?
I'm such a klutz!
I'm such a dork
Caught in a crush in the middle of work...
This freckled beauty
How she shook me up on duty!
I didn't understand a word
Yet she knows she left me stirred-
up against my emotions
Helpless, with such notions
Her fragrant coconut shampoo lingers in the air
The dreams I'll have now that she's gone, she has no cause to care.
I couldn't help but stare -
she left behind a fantasy that prior wasn't there.
Treacherous DreamsThe moon arise, the kettle boil
another round of Coffee
You can bet your sweet cotillion
these pipe dreams of sleep remain.
Many in your ranks are loyal,
it all but takes a worry
Just one traitor in a million
can - and will drive you insane
But you may relax, and yet,
you still can't bear to see it.
Not a soldier at your side
dares to hold the knife.
Gaze before your silhouette!
the blade where you decree it
Yet your nemesis inside
dominates your life.
The fight for independence
means to disregard the eyes
They see you against the shade
pitiful, but fair.
Seek progress, not repentance
cleanse thyself from all the lies
Kingdoms built on dreams don't fade
in the morning air.
Haunting Reveries Of What Might Have BeenIf I could play with my inner child,
What would we even play?
Were his games really better
Than the ones I like today?
And could I even warn him
That these joys will fade away?
Last night my inner child said to me
In our dreams at our old school:
Life with friends is good to him
He just wants to be cool
Man, I want to answer back
He tries too hard to be their fool...
Turns out my inner child took so much
For granted way back when
His mom and dad payed everything
One day they'll fight, and then...
If he knew how that will end
Would it crush us yet again?
You know, my inner child says so much;
My silence - wracked with guilt
I see his little blonde portraits,
When did the smiling wilt?
Was it worth growing up for this —
This cardboard fort I built?
If my inner child judged me now
I wonder what he'd see?
Would he become dejected
Of the man he's bound to be?
Would he understand in time,
It was either him or me?
Forever GoneMy eyes gaze at the diamonds in the sky.
The frozen tears that glide from heavens door.
A wonder how death is so far, so high,
Yet I wouldnt ask for anything more.
A safe haven for all I have and love,
And a future I will someday become.
Carried by the clouds, resting up above,
A home I will later acquire with mum.
My past, present and future are my light,
The shine I feel with every passing day,
And memories I will always keep bright,
That not even decease can take away.
Though my mind is set on those who passed on,
The thing is, they are not forever gone.
Ice Cold TalkReturn by demand through a case to save
More lives on additional orders with fever,
When the sky in your blood makes kissing face
Over holiday price like one angry beaver:
Voices on her silver blow away shadows
From my visualized hat in these black horse dreams,
Thus I evict our reservation on casual voyage
By show wrapping orange box reams;
Again there’s value type to soft tail just
As electrifying cross for lights north up green,
When extended returns towards Swiss dragons
Keep time in few windows near quiet black knights seen.
*I wrote this in unison with my television, which gave me ideas. The poem is an exaggeration of my family life because I’ve studied various kinds of Spanish literature. I like this poem because it has new ideas that sound like old conversations. I just get that feeling, you know?
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