cryptomancer

wash away the soul today, leave skin scorched and burned, empty the mind of pain today, lay still and be runed.

so.. thanks to me reactivating the twitter account, (or just starting to use it again) a new challenge is born..... poetry, in 140 charaters or less, and if you really want to post it on twitter too, just to confuse people. any questions?

is that a rubber ducky from a fairy tale?

Animaniacs!!!! I will rule the world before the Brain... I shall not be bested by a mouse!

three dances and a cute girl... thats a good night!

Quoth the Raven, "november, echo, victor, echo, romeo, mike, oscar, romeo, echo" Phoneticly speaking of course.

Far so!!! shall we discuss it over a La Te? i know a place with Good dough.... nuts lost my train of thought

Hey Norman.... it isnt Christmas.... quit with the Noel's!!

I have heard of burning a guitar on stage..... but a saxophone?

mmmmm eyeballs... crispy like after a battle using greek fire.

The Raven lands on the rafter above Zool and looks down quizzically..... VVED's? that are still around? or is it some new military thing the orcs are doing? I remember the older versions... they were like bees, but with more lazers. The last swarm I saw was ejecting people from a city, normally in the form of high temperature ash clouds. The sunset that day was pretty spectacular if I remember correctly.

sneeze! bless you

Is it right to write, if it is my right to write? For if I write, as is my right, I may learn to write right. Right?

the Raven swoops into the Pen, circles, adjusts aviators and lands on a rafter in the shadows of the roof. "who's dead? are the eyeballs still there?"

So to day I began again, Words winding the mind's spool, Waking to breaking a personal rule, Dreams are just the echoes of hell. Insanities of day break within, The cloudless sky, bloodshot and red, Twisted muscles break the strain of bed, Stretch and the mind is delivered dead. Weave the words of each sound, Voices etched in bones and skin, Carved on the fabrics we're living in, Waking the waning mind to sin. All I am is seen again, Blood on the hands, pain within, The echoes of that voice, dim Tasting the depth of this chaotic spin.

Return unto nature that which belongs to nature, Take the fate of time’s destructive path embracing its anger, Soak in the heavens the lightless wanderer, Waxen moons waning to black as upon the sun they turn their back. Woven sheets of dust and ice, dancing slow circles swung by chance, The touch of that light is too strong, not so strong as it once was.

That beautiful minion of the Fates, catalyst of my creation, All changes wrought by her hand or form, So subtle the influence, yet lasting the effects, Breaking things I though resistant, awakening potentials within. My art, my life, my ability to see, beauty, Simple beauty unsurpassed in all that is close to me, Yet her role was played, full measure of love’s essence, And Macbeth’s stage now echoes, lonely, empty, in her absence. The gift she has given hangs upon new walls, Art of the Fates, measured in the breaths I took with her, Awoken in the time apart, and now never will she see, All she changed in me.

The Raven lands in a corner and envelopes itself in the humaniod form of Cryptomancer. From a sleeve of his runic cloak the Cryptographicly possessed mage draws out a small silver mirror and looks at his reflection. shifting slightly in the chair, he look sa t the desk in front of him, glancing between reflection and desk a few times, before changing once more to (his now far more common) avian form. Muttering rather loudly, but to no-one in particular, "ok... some guy in a hat asked me a question and it has me confused... why is a Raven like a writing desk?"

To call me insane is a neat trick, I danced upon the thick heather once, Amid the standing stones of lore, Within the sea shells I slept, Resting upon the chasm floor. In three nights of wandering, I wondered at the moon, In three days of traveling, I found the golden ruin. The rusted spears of armies dead, Beneath my hands did rise, The world of ancients and of dread, Within my blackened eyes. Sanity is the last to leave, In dreams I now walk free, I travel the lightless stars above, And dwell within their might. Mortality is now my bane, I have drifted form its embrace, I tasted eternity at heaven’s gate, And in the clouded room Beneath the hallowed doors Upon the silken marbled floors, I danced the phantom’s pace. So to the texts and words of birds, Language of the oldest times, Voices of the echoing lies, Time and time’s old demise, I dream no more, for dreams are dead, Living only in the echoes of my head Living sands and waters deep, Washing the eyes that will never sleep Rinsing the mind of all it would keep, Dreamless, ageless, bones and flesh, Broken in the blackened depth. Run upon the heathers again, The moors and misted places all, I called the name I should not call, And in its echoes evermore will fall. No sanity do I hold, ;Insane now, or just too bold? I need not the shell restraining me. Black sleep, dreamless end, Padded walls without and within. One voice remains, echoing the name.

Vast wastes extend beyond this door, The rippling earth, washing cracked Dusty waves, wet against the portal wall. Within the sanctuary, I stand, And in the mind of minds explore. Not for the world would I stay here Yet in this small orb of empty space I stand, for it is this place, That is free of burning sand. I seek beyond my walls at night, My days are darker still, Each woken word I work my spell, In dream I work the archaic well, That holds the thoughts and ancient eyes, And words in tongues of old. Each word I learn eternally Each phrase I learn to spell, Is testament to my orb, my home, And why in here I ever dwell.

I strike the small brush of red, And flare its paint to life, Bright in the tint it shows, Inner light its hues chose, Wakening the walls to the show. Inside my head, walls reform, In my mind I am reborn. Music fades to my touch, Doors close, sealed without a latch, Surfaces glow as the paint starts to catch. Windows to my soul grow dim, Only the shining paint shows within, Sitting stealing the lyrics begin. ‘Paint it black’ my pretty paint of flames, Upon each memory, does just that. Lock them in their little holes, Nail the doors, braced with poles, No thoughts of you can now escape, No longer will they my mind take, Dreams of you no longer keep me awake, Meticulous artist I have been, Each red stroke dries black in steam, Echoes drift and fade around, All my memories piled high, Burn it down.

There was a time once, Where the wild things played in my heart Wakening the dreams of youth and joy, Playing mayhem upon my heart and soul, There once was a time, How all stories start, unraveling their plot, Breaking the moral out in the end, Beginning the lessons again. There once was a time, Long, so long ago, when I lived, Awake and alive upon the air I breathe, And now all there is, is the words I weave. There once was a time, Dreams meant something then, Two rooms joined by doorways between, I walked the windowed walls to you. There once was a time, In my heart and mind, all things, Stood beside us, combined, complete, All beside me now is dust and shards. There once was a time No longer now, no longer this path, Lost to the world of times past, Memories, just a story of what may have been. There once was a time, Just a time long ago...

Where have you gone my blue eyed love? A line of a song corrupted in thought, Dylan was a true poet, many a line of his Echoes gently in my soul. How many times can I relive this moment? Looking at each falling tear that Years of training them not to fall, Flooded out upon my soul, So easily at your turning away. So I lose myself to sorrow, Lost in the one place I cannot escape Lost to that dark world, without you.

A murder of ravens, quite aptly named Voices cawing the harsh memories shamed. Screaming of the victim soon fades, Scrape of soil on the burial spades, Then they all fade to the skies, Moving to the next timely demise, Of things that seemed But should never have been, And yet one stays here, Watching, waiting, Ever near, Like an angel of death reborn, Lurking in lonely raven form.