Magic.
Magic in the soul.
  Hidden realms of magic that from day-dream I do sew

weaving paths of wonder through woods of woven word,  
paths of hidden wonder that lie far beyond this world 

From paged prose a fire rose 
and set my heart aflame...

  ignites my soul eternally; forever and never again  

I dream a dream of beauty;
I dream a dream of stars  

Far beyond dreamed peaks of snow; far beyond this world we know 

wonders beyond this world we'll see
just close your eyes and dream with me.

  

*****
Yours in the pursuit of ethereal wonders.
Smogford

I don't want money or fame,

if i can take your hand, Page-walker,
 and show you something truly amazing;

~That would be true happiness~

~have you heard the darkness sing~
for sing the darkness does.
like a nightingale at twilight 
singing to the moon above.

she whistles on those cloudy nights
she dances through your drain

And plays her ghostly tune upon your window in the rain.

Composed in Fire.

 

   
A world adrift in stars;

A dream composed in song.
And a boy with hair that glows an ethereal white.

     

Skilful hands dance a tempo of passion and fire;    

a proud and ethereal ballad that ignites the soul.   

   faster the fingers dance;   

 their conductor lost in the music;  

 an musical inferno that grows,
as though,
 If he were to keep playing,
his song would burst from the piano and into magic;

In an intensity of whispered wonder that echo of eldritch fate.    

             

But in that world;   

   a world where song takes true form;    

where music was the worldly incarnation, of the soul itself.

In that world;

the music;

that fiery dance of the aether came to life.    

Flaring into being in a wave of fire and song    

A flaming ballad of wonder composed of dreams

bursting into golden-fire   

A fire composed of the wonder and imagination most adults lose; 

those stars of a golden memory we once knew    

that infinite wonder at the magic in our world   

 that combine with warm and homely feelings of safety in a mother's arms    

and that pure and golden fire people see in young lovers eyes;

        

      

Did I reach her...?       

The boy plays his soul in a wave;    

His love composed in light and fire.      

'And then she felt it' 

A communication that was somehow more than thought,    

beyond speech,    

beyond music or any other worldly conveyance known to man.    

But what could only be described by way of words alone;    

As a wave of pure, musical radiance;    

an anomaly that materialized within,

A sensation close to what we'd call love or hope....

    

A moment of such raw passion and wonder that to know it is to know music,

in its pure and singular essence.

 And for but a moment,    

two souls;  

Worlds apart;  

had become one.        

Silence.    

Bow poised over oldest friend;  

Time itself seemed to slow;

    

 as though reality and the cosmos were holding their breath in the calm before the storm        

Alice felt it;   

that well of will and fire inside.   

The truth  The essence,
    

The slumbering Dragon that lives in the hearts of all beings;      

the girls mind awoke;  

flooded with a wave of light and fire;  

  she could suddenly conceive all of existence;   

Contemplate all truth and wonder in its infinite complexity;  

  And on the brink of darkness;  

a beacon of hope amidst a broken world she played.  

a glowing golden thrum of a dragons soul.   

A beauty beyond beauty that reverberated throughout all planes of life:  

bow and string a dance of perfect harmony .   

The musical piece that was life itself:  

  

She blazed across that shadowed void.  

fingers playing purest wonder; she wove a world in song.

  

   

The Botanist

The Botanist

Based on an amazing dream I had.Another World.
I was a healer. They called me the Botanist.

A dying world under parasitic attack.
A great infection by way of astral projecting along internet networks;
A bio-chemical infection under the master manipulation of an evil man.

A Thing of science and powerful magic.  

I call him a Thing. For he was not worthy of the same caste as humanity;
a being more cruel and inhumane I cannot bring to mind.

An existence more Demon than Man.

I would give you his name but I never knew it.
And I didn't care for finding out.

I remember the sanctuary before the world fell apart.
A place of beauty beyond my ability to describe.
A part of me fought and survived for so long out of a burning desire to see it flower again.

But the cold, hard, logical rest of me knew I never would.

Our world was not dying.
No matter what light and good I fought to protect.
No matter what we did.
It was already...

Long dead.
****

The sanctuary was beautiful once. 

Before the End Began.

Although you don't usually capitalize the word; 
I do so here.

For this was THE End.
The End of all things.

I remember flowers.
One of the few alive who still do.
Before the infection took them from me.

Before he took it all from me.

Before my children were infected by that 
THING and its Bio-chemical program.

The Infected plants were bad enough.
The worst of it by far was the people. 

It collected them.

Infecting them slowly,
Piece by piece.

Rotting and turning them bit by bit,
Whispering in their ears as he takes their mind. 
Slowly driving them mad as they die.

I tried to save them.
I failed.
Time and time again.
I failed.
The world ended.
I failed.
They all died around me.
Allies. Friends.
Infected one by one.
I failed.
The world had ended. The dark had won.

But I would never let that thing see me despair.

That would be my One.
My only.

Small victory.

Or so I thought, the day I died.

But I was wrong.

Thank God, I was wrong...

*****

The Pilgrim.

I never knew his name. 
I didn't care to know.

He was dying.
His body riddled with infection inside and out.

We never asked names. 
Not when everyone you knew was so like to be killed at any moment.

I had never seen a soul last so long under infection.
And the fool used to say he was weak!

We both knew he was doomed.
His body and organs were falling apart.
I never knew how the fool could smile so brightly every god damn day. 
But there you have it.

That he could still walk and function was nothing short of a miracle.

He was beyond dying.
Like the world he tried to protect.

He was already dead.

But again.
I was wrong.
I remember one last, sad, thought;
As I died, my body burning in holy fire.

Pilgrim.
I wish I had learned your name...
*********
When Flames Die

The Sanctuary fell. 
One of the last strongholds of the free world.
Pilgrim fled to the refuge that had become known as Haven City.

I Stayed.

I was infected.

I would soon be dead.

And a part of me knew.
Had known, for far too long...

The longer I lived,
His greatest foe, 
It would never end.

I purified my body in Holy fire.

I died knowing all was lost.
I died knowing I would never see my flowers; 
My children again.

The darkness had won.

I have no words for the joy I feel;

Knowing I was wrong.
********

Survivor

Pilgrim they call me.

But I once went by the name David.

The Botanist died when the sanctuary was attacked.

I saw it.
She killed herself.
Purified her own body. 
Right there in front of me.

But I saw what it did to him too.
And the resulting and profound effect it would have on our world.

He gave up.
I saw it in his eyes;
His greatest foe had escaped beyond his reach.

And the fight just left him.

A part of him forever knowing he would never be satisfied with any other battle.

He played the part. For whose benefit we never found out. Maybe a part of him refused to accept the fight was over.
From the sanctuary he massed his infected to take Haven.
And when they threatened to take down his precious networks;
Something that could not have happened while the botanist lived as they were the only means of attack or defense against the virus.
He came quietly.

He had planned for this of course. 

He could have escaped.

But once in the prison. Cut off from his networks. 

Impotent without power.

He grew quiet. He grew old.

And he died.

And, miraculously;
On the brink of absolute destruction.
Our world began to heal.

I'm still infected.
'I should be dead', the doctors say.
People have said that to me a thousand times over.
And yet, somehow.
I Survive.
I have a story I must  tell here.
 And a lot of flowers to plant.

She would have liked that...
****
Her Name
I have no doubt she saved us all.

Had he never known such a foe he would never have lost his fire for destruction.

And we would all be dead.

She always blamed herself for the despicable things he did to the people around her in the name of war and vengeance.

I hope with all my heart. Wherever she walks now.
She knows she died saving us all.

.
And that no matter the flowers I fill this world with.

It will always be empty without her.

Botanist.
I wish I had asked your name...

Afraid of losing you,
I never knew how painful not knowing was.

Now that you're gone...
****

Beyond the Gateway: For his name is Music

 

Beyond the Gateway: For his name is Music.

Ascending path of more than gravel and stone,

A path of note and string,

A path of pure and potent sound,

We hear it when he sings.

When he sings of trees in blossom,

and of lovers gathered there,
When he strums an image before him weaving magic in the air.
He'll be sad song when times are tragic. 

A lullaby when we need it. 

For his name is Music;

 

The last spirit of true magic.