Freya Baggins

Author's note: Just a random little thing that has been lurking on my hard drive for about a month or two...

 

Land of the Fae

 

As the moonbeams rise

From over the hill

And the sun is biding low

I make my way

To the fae’s golden glade

Where the softest fern doth grow

 

And there I dance until the dawn

Until the moon doth sink

And then I travel home again

To sit silently and think.

 

And when the day is done again,

I swiftly do return

To the golden glade of the gentle fair fae

Where the softest fern doth grow.

A slight figure slipped out of a doorway and into the hall. Glancing furtively around, she made sure no one could see to identify her. She grinned, then pulled two cans of paint and a massive paintbrush from under her cloak.

 

The sound of humming, interspersed with giggles, soon filled the hall as Freya dipped her paintbrush into blood-red paint, then swept it onto the wall with elegant cursive strokes. Pulling another, clean, paintbrush out of her cloak, she outlined her previous artwork with gold-tinted semi-tranparent glitter-paint. A mischevious smile could be seen on the diminuative elf's face as she gathered her supplies and fled the "crime" scene. The only evidence that she had ever been there: a slightly illegible, very sloppy piece of graffiti reading,

 

Berserk Healer Elf

2-16-09

OOC: I hope it's ok for me to post this here... I'm still an Initiate...

*giggles* Tumbleweed... and "You stole my sake set!"

 

I like.

First one

 

This is so much better when it is sung, but here we go…

 

A Young Woman’s Hope

 

Butterflies on the hilltop,

birds flutter through air,

as I sit on this hillock,

trying not to despair.

 

Butterflies scatter swiftly,

birds fly far away,

as I stand, sad and silent,

in the twilight of May.

 

For you left without saying,

goodbye to me,

for you left without warning,

to sail the sea.

 

You, my dearest beloved,

have broken my heart,

I hope you are faithful,

while we are apart.

 

Now I see you a-coming

from over the rise,

love in your smile,

warmth in your eyes.

 

I know you’ve been faithful,

you’ve been true to me,

even through your long journey,

from over the sea.

 

You pick me up,

and swing me around,

I thought I had lost you,

but now you are found.

 

We soon will be married

and go hand in hand,

wherever the currents

shall cause us to land.

I'd say so. It refers to the other person as being a fool who is 'holding on even after they have been rejected', which works because you referring to them as foolish after saying that they lie, conveys that other person having a personality utterly comfortable with doing the *wrong* thing with good intentions...thus they are a fool for holding on, because it's obvious to all but them that they're no good for you, because they, for whatever reason continue to be so, and oblivious to that fact (the tone is too casual to suggest any forcefulness on the other person's part, so oblivious was the most logical conclusion for me).

You nailed that one. That's exactally what I was referring to. "Obvious to all but them." Wish that wasn't true. (forget I said that, JK!)

In terms of things that might be improved upon in future revisions, the rhyme scheme felt a bit forced to me at times and might be restraining the poem from reaching its full potential.

Yeah, I notice that about a lot of my poems I can never get the rhyme scheme to be quite as flowey as I want.

 

The reference to the ex-loved one as "O foolish one" in the fourth stanza was also a bit odd to me, both for the olden language and for the idea of the person who stole the narrator's heart being a fool.

Two things here a)I am odd in that I use olden lauguage more than a lot of people, and the person is a fool because they hold on even after they have been rejected. Does that make sense?

When last I sent a Valentine,

I thought the world of you,

but now my heart is broken,

I know not what to do.

 

Take back your empty words,

Take back your empty lies,

I never wish to see your face

before my red-rimmed eyes.

 

My heart belonged to you,

you crushed it in your grasp,

and now I must plead and beg,

"Please, release your clasp!"

 

Release my heart, O foolish one,

Leave, and come no more,

For I do long for freedom,

as I've never longed before.

 

When last I sent a Valentine,

I thought the world of you,

but now my heart is broken,

I know not what to do.

In an old attic, covered in inches of thick, impenetrable dust, lays a chest. The chest itself is unobtrusive, scarred with age, and totally unremarkable. The hinges appear to be rusted shut, the latch weak, and the wood brittle. However, this cryptic message seared into the lid deters most inquisitive folk:

 

Those who saw and opened,

May wish they never had,

While those who saw and didn’t,

Forevermore be glad.

 

A message to be well heeded, for the tale of this chest is one of horror and total insanity, one of utter despicability. How do I know? Because I am the one who made it so, the one who strikes fear into the hearts of those who choose to open the dreaded chest.

 

I was once a rich and prosperous merchant, a man well respected by the general populous. Those few famous I would condescend to familiarize myself with were the elite and the disgustingly wealthy. They each owned several huge mansions, and threw elaborate parties, where they gave away objects of great value for no more than the promise of a “private party” later. The immorality that abounded was inconceivable.

 

I was in the thick of it all, partying until I could no longer stand, making myself sick with my corruption. No one can live like that for long and not feel the agony which consumes the body, the numbing of the mind and heart. Insanity soon follows close on your heels.

 

One day it happened. I simply snapped. My normal calm composure was gone and a loony but sinister smile covered my face. I would disappear into my basement workshop for days on end, then would reappear and burn whatever I had made. Finally, I stumbled out, dragging behind me a large wooden chest.

 

This I loaded into my car and drove to a small country house, which my family had owned for generations. I dragged it laboriously up to the attic, each pounding step echoing my own beating heart. In the attic I set it down next to a trapdoor that led to a room below that contained no doors or windows, just four walls and some bones. Then I crouched behind a large box and waited.

 

My first victim was not long in coming, as I had invited him. A puzzled look covered his immaculately groomed features, and his manicured hand reached out to touch the chest, opening it up. His look of puzzlement turned to horror as the smell of rotting flesh filled the room, wafting up from the decomposing body lying in the chest. My victim turned to run, but had not gone three steps when I came up behind him and smote him on the back of the neck, instantly killing him. I threw him down the trapdoor, a grim look on my face.

 

Many pass through now that I do not harm, but those I once knew, well, they are in great danger of meeting the fate of that first victim.