Wind blew cold in the horse's mane
East ran the horses through the plain
Stalwart rode there a faithful king
Through shadow of a dreadful wing
Unafraid when blood fell like rain
Through a dark morning without dawn
He led his riders, now they're gone
Eorl's sons in their helmets tall
Oath bound them to heed Gondor's call
Dark was the morning, red the day
Ere evening came, the king dead lay
Now to the bright halls leads his way
Hail Théoden, o mighty king
A song of glory as swords ring
Let now the riders sing!
A style without the boundaries of expectations that
Never seems to lose inquisitive timelessness. Like
Dionysus in The Bacchae, they hold themselves with sensual willowy grace.
Ritual precision in The Look with muted colors, beanies, flannels,
Ostentatious never, always seems comfortable, and of course, hair
Grown just long enough to make an impression of beauty on all.
Yet... I can't join them. I'm too feminine, jaded, set in my ways.
No mistake can be made from the curl of my hips, the girlish
Omen in my lips, my auburn lion's mane. But there's always the
Unruly brow, the set jaw, the skin and opia of a man...
Scrutinizing my outfit, gait,
Hands interlocked and hearts entwined like vines--
Open your eyes, let them blaze me
Like two burning blue suns.
Dangle me from harmonious heartstrings.
Make twilight stop in her footsteps so
You and I can study stillness longer,
Heaven would shut its gates in envy
At how pleasantly I dream of you.
Nothing can dissever your voice
Dancing around the margins of my thoughts.
Floating like a cloud in a crystalline sky of ecstasy--
Orbiting about you, I am in awe of celestial flawlessness.
Rapt with your vivacious visage,
Embers of our last meeting still burn in my heart
Vehemently.
Enter this astronomically empty birdcage of a dwe
LES TOMBEAUX REFUSENT LEUR DESTIN by Exnihilo-nihil, literature
Literature
LES TOMBEAUX REFUSENT LEUR DESTIN
Ne jamais croire un mot et ne jamais dormir
Il en est des espoirs comme des duels d'armes
Hector dans la poussière et son dernier soupir
Imaginait-il enfin les cris les pleurs les larmes
L'on se berce parfois dans l'avenir charmant
Idiome donné flou des fils blancs de la lune
Sélène aseptisée aux baisers de l'amant
Tu n'auras comme amour que la mort de la rune
Et même les tombeaux refusent leur destin
Frantz, 1er Avril 2012.
Just see who enters
the realm of dreams
creating lands
that none have seen
Retaking kingdoms,
legends of old
Molding them into
enchanted world
Reaping the fruits
that in his mind grow
to rivers of words
that from his pen flow
Travel through the lands,
follow the dream
He gives you his hand...
Enter with him!
Of Names and Decisions by MirachRavaia, literature
Literature
Of Names and Decisions
Fair child without sorrow
Is your life hollow,
Noldorin prince?
Dreams are just small seeds
Adventures, great deeds
Ripen long since…
A burning fire
That’s your desire:
Onwards without wince
In the light of Two Trees
Noon of Valinor's bliss
Golden-haired child
Over the wide sea, though
Lie the lands you don't know
Distant and wild
Oh, eager child...
***
Faithful and steady
Is you oath ready,
Nargothrond’s king?
Reaping the visions
Of your decisions
Darkness will sink
For the oath spoken
Echoes unbroken
Loyalty true
A new hope is born
Grief of those who mourn
Up to sky flew
New day is coming
Dawning in blue
Soaking in the warm sun the trees
Poke leaves and flowers from
Round fat buds. The air
Ignites with fragrance, and the
Noise of life returning in joy, and
Growing at winter's demise.