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When sky and soul like mirrors are,
this spin like slowlight, slow gavotte;
and to the center,
from the center,
Taeosil, gate of stars and lines:
Here the web of realms entwine
in silverquick bright threads of life.

Your hands rise, palms moon-curved,
cupping eyes in darkness
(carbonblack to echo night),
but those shapes that boil
behind lids held tight
echo that deepspace churning sky.

So from Ringwil step
into stark define:
A realm of blackness, light
and walls;
a world of silver, life
and cause.

Your histories have here
no terminal,
no edge
to hedge that cup of embers
like spiral shells and galaxies:
Memory, that flickergame,
that shuffle of parchments dry
in quiet halls of silvershine.

So from the Deep step
into time untwined:
Angels of arms, seeds
and stars;
all unbound,
all enfolded
in curvilinear infinities.

Here we'll walk:
the Thred Paeth,
Michael's Walk, the Centerline.
These pillars stretch like hex-ed threads,
etch a graphite line from ground to stars.
Circle once, a hundred steps,
arms arise like antenna,
palms flat against each side press.

Six shocks times two,
that stellarelectric,
these conduits.
Press darkluster palms to mine:
Cell to cell we speak
the secret names of stars,
hand to hand we sing
the hidden spark of fusioncores.

We take that secret voltaic life
in lips and tongues like nurseries;
carry north across the realm
this sacred charge,
this promise,
this aflameinside shiversong.

Whitefrosted ground gives way
to supercarbon plains, quicksilver rivers;
this path to shining tower leads.
Though dark as sky,
life spreads here, like nebula,
skyscattered handfuls:
crimson red,
violet,
stems of yellow snapdragons.

That road to angel
who stands strong against darkness,
yeilding to hope:
Michael, he of silver
and adamantium walls;
he of history
and promise.

Within his walls,
in safety's symmetry,
in ordered spirals
of silverluster sacred halls,
we will walk,
reverent,
silent,
close.

Step into this open hall,
a gallery of history:
each black tapestry, each banner dark;
when you raise your eyes
to arch of ceiling,
these living illustrations
of days and lands.

Shhhhh...
the soft rustle, shuffle,
the flutter
of papertorn;
images shift, fade:
you see what you must,
these glimmervisions
guided, by need, by wisdom's
hand.

When history and hope
here intersect,
like a helix,
twisted pair;
here we stand
in silver's glow like prayer's echo,
angel's vision pressed
upon our brows.

So step from
halls like starshine smooth,
and to southern lands walk:
Spines singing still
with stellar life,
eyes bright with reflections
of that to be.

Shall we,
in this eternal nightsky day,
pass west or east
in this spiral walk?
Which mountaincrest shall echo
songs of lament and promise,
which frostbridge shall arch
from snowcapped peak
to starcapped sky?

If east we pass,
to Absolon,
then high above our heads will hang
that deepspace span;
that twist of void, gammalight
and stellarsong:
Aedhfrost.

No voice here,
in this place
speech is not.
Just close your eyes and hear
the music of spheres
and superstring concertos;
the almost hum of perfect void
in the interstices
of our nerves, and hearts.

If west we choose,
oh, to Aurendon;
then that shimmersky reach,
that bridge of air
and sun and wind,
shall reflect in our eyes:
Urfrost, bridge of sky.

Here we sing songs our own,
here is light, and warmth;
laughter, sighs and rest.
Here we can breathe
the breath of transformation,
here we can open again our eyes.

So step with me
towards southern woods:
let's walk a path,
but not choose a way
east or west of sky and star.
Whether deepspace
or opensky,
this secret way is ours;
this land of changingever life.

And southern lands of inky black,
a coalsteeped roll
of nightveiled hills,
unfold beneath our reverent heels:
Gavriel's flawless
diamondset plains.

Surrounding the facets
of the clearcut Diamond Tower,
this impervious spiral
of life-within-life,
spread the eternal Ebon Wood,
those forests of promise
and promises kept.

Though dark of trunk
and sharp of leaf,
this jewelled wood is
refraction filled:
infinite color, infinite promise,
the light that feeds
the fruit of life.

Tended by this angel
clearspoken and clearbrowed,
this place of healed selves
and secret cells,
the leaves of diamond shiver
in changewind: hear
that song,
that nervemusic
chord?

Take my brightluster hand in yours,
and step into this wellspringstand;
pluck this fruit from ebon tree:
this clearfrost globe,
transparent seed,
where under soft skin
colored lights run
electricthread.

A promise made, by angels kept:
with each bite from this fruit of lives,
hands and faces sweetjuice washed,
eyes upturned and sweetstarshine rinsed:
here we are the stars
set in evershifting history's lines;
here the web of realms entwine
in silverquick bright threads of life.
From the Ebon Wood, to the Stars
...

This is the second of the Realm Cycle poems by the Unknown Poet (see The Song of Evening Aire).

Thois poem was written after her sojourn to Tunwe. Tunwe, the realm of the Ilphaem Michael and Gavriel, is a breathtaking realm of sharp contrasts and high beauty, that both teaches its visitors undiscovered truths, and unseats many of the concepts that they may have held as uncontestable previously. Many have remarked on the free-verse style, the irregular meter and often repeated wording of this work, as compared to some of her more structured pieces. Most believe that can only be a reflection of Tunwe's influence upon her thinking.
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:iconaliendonkey:
AlienDonkey Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2006   Writer
i adore the combinations and perversions of mythos and reality. if asked, how is this wonderful, i'll have to answer 'it just is'.

the future intersects with the past and edgar allan poe.
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:iconsoma:
soma Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2006  Professional General Artist
I'll have to answer, "just thank you". :heart:
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:iconvirginiavitamins:
VirginiaVitamins Featured By Owner Mar 30, 2006
Gorgeous.
Reply
:iconsoma:
soma Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2006  Professional General Artist
Thank you, ever so much. :heart:
Reply
:iconvioletstranger:
VioletStranger Featured By Owner Mar 30, 2006
That road to angel
who stands strong against darkness,
yeilding to hope:
Michael, he of silver
and adamantium walls;
he of history
and promise.


All our dreams and hopes lie with one.

Amazing.
Reply
:iconsoma:
soma Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2006  Professional General Artist
Thank you. I find it amazing when people take the time to read my work. I appreciate all of your comments. :heart:
Reply
:iconvioletstranger:
VioletStranger Featured By Owner Apr 6, 2006
You're most welcome.

Though, you should not be amazed when people read your work.

It's well worth it.
Reply
:iconfrail:
frail Featured By Owner Mar 30, 2006  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
:heart:
Reply
:iconsoma:
soma Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2006  Professional General Artist
:heart: + ∞
Reply
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