cryptomancer

For you my love, When you need. My gift to you is strength, All my own is yours to use, The shoulders of my very being, Hold you when you need. I give to you my arms, Embrace or shield, The strength of my very life, Lift you when you need. My gift to you is love, All I am, all I can be, My soul and its enfolding wings Embracing shelter when you need.

If you love something truely, give it freedom. In letting go in truest love, you gain more than you could ever lose.

Once more I reach out to my muse, Opening the long closed door of trust, That her beauty is all and all besides is dust. I seek the burning solitude of ink, Melting again my mind to soak the forgotten pages That soft bed of pressed fiber, embracing my soul. I reach out once more to the joys of old, All I ever wished to write, muse of beauty my guide, My dawn, my day, my blessed night, all is her. I cannot forget, her inspiration awakes my all, I am nothing but poet to her, she is my very soul. None but the lost truly know, the wonder of a guide, None but the poets truly trust, the beauty by their side.

I try to link people to the Pen as often as I can. FB Group would be good though. http://www.new.facebook.com/profile.php?id=602996323 is me

I read Kehama’s Curse again, Felt each word unleash upon me, That silent and ancient litany, Awaking walls that ever surround me, Binding me enclosed in black. Soft shadows no longer dance for my eyes, The open sands no longer call, For here alone I now reside, Imprisoned in my soul. No weapon forged can harm my form, Not beast of blood or venom born, Nor the things from this earth torn, Will cause me pain or cause me death, For every thing by this, is less. No elemental fire or ice, No weather fierce nor sacrifice, No pain can I now fear, No sorrow shall I feel, For there is naught within this world, What ever threat and fear, There is no anguish in this world, Than what binds me here. And in my cell of sealed walls, The stone is burned away, Sealing within this onyx tomb, My role in this life’s play. I read Kehama’s Curse again, Felt each word unleash upon me, That silent and ancient litany, Forging walls that now surround me, Forever sealed in black.

There once was a bust of Pallas here, Not certain where it was put, I placed a claw upon its brow, But not since then on it have stood. It has likely been shifted twice, Placed upon the shelf with mice Lined the ledge of a dusty shelf, Is door stop for an ancient elf? I have not seen its likeness here, Just the piles of dust and such, None had spoken of its lose, It could not have been missed much. But then again I think I see, Its like maybe its family, Same face but beard of white And dust and such its quite a sight. The bust of Pallas has been kept, I see it clearly now, For birds have oft upon it met And covered it in their shroud. For dust and such, is often white, And many birds and years have passed, And still they sit upon the brow, But of whom, none have asked. And most see not Pallas there, The bust oft times gives pause, Though it is Pallas we all know Its appearance is Santa Claus The dust a mantle soft does give, The light dusting of snow The beard of white and the hair, Most likely from the birds you know. The bust of Pallas needs a clean me thinks.....

Upon the fields of Corvus Noir All truth is seen and feared Upon the fields of Corvus Noir All dreaming souls are seared. Touch of feathers meet my dawn Awake yet still to dream In the hell of nightmare bound My soul begins to scream. Walk with me the battlements All left in ruins and dust Inscribe my flesh with cursed laments Inked runes carved with rust. The field with walls is sealed No more shall people see The field with walls has revealed It was never meant to be. Burn the shells of my eyes Turn black their deepest brown, Empty the whites of their peace, Let black my sight surround. Coals of fire beneath the grass, Green life burned to grey, Dust and dirt fused to glass, Black onyx pools on clay. Beneath the walls of Corvus Noir I lay my soul to rest, Beneath the walls of Corvus Noir My wings, open are pressed. Flame devours my body’s flesh Black onyx coats my wings, Embers eat my feather’s mesh My soul in darkness stings. Splayed bones lay upon the ground Flayed flesh spread out to burn, Skin as glass to me is found, Each touch with cold is spurned. Here lies the field of Corvus Noir With walls all closed around Upon the field of Corvus Noir An onyx angel is found.

The Raven lands in the rafters above Norman and looks quizzically at the miniture orc. Curiosity overcomes the wish for shadows and the Raven glides down to land on the orc's head. Looking down at Norman in the upsidedown and remarkably quizzical manner of a bird perched on a bowler hat, the Raven asks.... "So, why dont we have a bust of Pallas for the ravens to sit on?"

...Realised just how good you are at putting on your own makeup? ...Bitten your lip twice instead of the toast you were eating? ...Wondered if the sun exists or is just an illusion to distract you from the fact the sky isnt blue? ...Wanted to taste the clouds?

At peace with the soft twist of pain Through the open skies I search To see the world I cannot reign Hope that was once my cane I lost my grasp and now walk At peace with the soft twist of pain Shadows dance through this rain My sorrow a mask upon my eyes To see the world I cannot reign Shield of secrets hide me from disdain No one knows my path to home At peace with the soft twist of pain My mortality moulds the mind insane The skies grow dark as light fades To see the world I cannot reign Looking back at all I cannot obtain Sadness seeping through my soul At peace with the soft twist of pain I move into my realm again The murk of solitude still the same To see the world I cannot reign At peace with the soft twist of pain

www.myspace.com/egopic I can offer you my FaceBook, and Bebo ones too... as well as two windows live spaces.... does that make me more of a Kid?

oh Wyvern.... thanks for the comment... the line a "sip from heavens well" was directed at a few things, the world being refreshed by the rain, the quenching of thirst, and of cause the beauty of running around outside with your mouth open catching rain drops.

its ironic really, in today's economic strife and turmoil, uncertainty and disruptive lives, and here, in my land, ressession. it is the way of things it seems, the weather mocks us gently, with storms and rain and as it seems, the deepest depression of the last decade. nature has a sense of humor it seems

As is the way with the world, All things fade to grey, Dark may fall as night at times, But the heavens still light my way. I watched the rain mostly Last night the dew didn’t fall No frost today awoke me Just a soft sip from heaven’s well.

In a dark corner of the Cabaret room the Raven sits watching the shadowed figures and Wyvern write on the wall. The Raven grinned, a very avian grin, that looked like the visage of a raven under most circumstances. Slipping a chain and very bling looking pendant over his head the Raven set his aviators in place and took flight. Mynx sat in by a window, relaxing in the cool air and warm sunlight, kittens strategically placed around her keeping watch. The flap of a high speed raven drew her attention, Mynx shifted her sight from kitten to kitten following the path of the Raven as he flew around the room. The Raven dove, wings folded and bling gleaming in the sunlight. His aviators reflecting the image of the kitten watching him most closely. The last minute cornering ability of the winged runebird allowed only his tail feathers to gently fan and clip the kitten on the nose. Mynx yelled, “oi bird!! What are you playing at?” The Raven swooped again, timing his angle of descent to clip two kittens as the sight for Mynx shifted between them. Mynx was now on her feet and with the speed and dexterity of the weapon trained feline, abruptly halted the Raven’s path, and plunged him deep into the bucket of treacle that now floated close by her side. With a half spin and a flick of her wrist the Raven spun from Mynx’s treacle covered paw and hurtled spread ravened into the wall of graffiti. With a plop, the Raven landed on the floor, bling somehow untouched by treacle, shining sofly in the shadows. Upon the wall, the words in a treacle imprint of a raven simple stated, “Mynx was here” and in small print just below, “oh, and the Raven too, 4-28-2008” ooc: thanks Mynx for proof reading and helping

Thank you Wyvern, It has been a while since i actively wrote and the freeform style that i tend to use is very wordy. i like this and want to refine it a bit so we see what i can post as i work it and rework it. thank you for the feedback. (typo corrected too, i missed that one)

ps.... i like this ... thank you Ozy sir... it is wonderful

I sit upon a couch and didn’t stare Upon the page that isn’t there And forgot to read the words there writ In the softly shining inkless script And didn’t seem to comprehend The certain scribble I wrote to send And didn’t PM as I wasn’t inclined To hide the ramblings of my mind.

Did I ever mention the dark shadows around the edge of the view I am looking at? The indefinable shades of grey that haunt the edge of the light? That which the soul sees as a curiosity, The blurring of the lines that mark the trail of solitary footprints upon life’s beach. Crumbling sand at the lip of that small escarpment created When your life imprints reality with your presence. I think of them often in my waking moments between the distractions of life Real time transitions of shade to day, and the night of my soul to the dawn of common sense That makes me human, or at least vaguely so In the grand scheme of the picture that was drawn so long ago. I missed the image that lay beneath, The lines that first drew my form, showed the likeness of me in the eyes of the creator. Isn't it strange that we never seem to look inwards enough to see that shape? So strange that our image is so hidden even from us, We spend our lives looking at the images reflected at us by the world, The shapes of the shadow moulded figure that is carved by filtered light, The almost dark twilight of society, lost to the selfish void of humanity. That inner image fading ever more to grey. Those first lines captured the burning white of the canvas, the single moment of creation, The breath drawn by the artist, showing that perfection was gained, And slowly we fill it in, painting ourselves in the ash of the fire. Ever there was only one fire, and the pit is open to the breath of the world, That first slip, eating that which should never have been consumed. And ever more we breath the smog, that colours us the shades of the world. Where is the canvas now? Bar the texture of our form, the tangible reality of what could be. Hidden in layers of tar and ash, in the painted lies of sin, Weighted down with the mire of human emotions and self interest. Drowning before we even see the light that burns within. Softly sinking into mortality, and dropping the immortal shape, Through the ash, into the fire, before it can rise to light again.

Last night I saw flame descend, Rending the sky and cloud, The tear of broken heaven’s veil, Draped shattered upon the ground. I saw the fall of the bitter star, Saw the smoke of its twisting flight, I smelt the bitterness overthrow, And the springs of water taint. Trumpets sounded at the void, That stood ‘tween paradise, Showed the glory of God, The angelic army’s might. For the world again descends, Chaos mirrored in its eye, Dark the taste of evil spins, The web of worldly lies. Dark and light collide above, The clouds of night so bright Lit by the fires of demon hearts, And the swords of truth and life.

Melody un-forgiven, I seek the change anew, That sits upon my life’s root, And seems to sit askew. Each passing day it quakes, And in the tremors I fear, For the terrors of my forgotten heart, Creep ever close and near. In a heart that harbours dark, I see the shadow of me, I feel the dreams that are yet to be, I see the fears that govern me. But sing my dreams I shall, For like an intricacy formed shell, I am the gift of created love, And my voice inspired above. For who could sing without the wings, Of spirit blest and mortal dreams, Who could a lyric spin? That had not been freed from sin. Forgiven is the work of love, Each blest moment echoed The taste of solitude rests With the wings of a lover’s, blest. For even in the darkest dreams, Love finds us, and seems, To shed its vivid radiance, And to His love, give guidance.

Upon the harp my fingers strum, The lyre my muse’s tongue, Upon her lips my heart is spun, The finger caressed lyrics. I quest for the solace of magnificent, The seeking of that power of all, The gifts of a God who in my awe, Blest my lowly life to be. I walk the planes of existence, Tread the paths of old and new, I was the voice of the northern wind, I, sing now with a tongue of yew. The raven wings my carriage dark, The nights of winter my dream, I walk the ways of human being, I live with wings unseen. Each blest echo of the past becomes, The vocal call of lore, Each blest word that He spoke, Becomes the voice of law. Live by the commands of love, Given upon the mount, Walk the world of the meek, And in the Lord truly count. See the wings that are my own, That he blest me with to fly, See the feathers that adorn, To make me seek beyond the sky. Should I fall again to woe, Press not the tears of grief, I shall rise again to show, His sweet mercy gives relief. Ask he said, you shall receive, Seek and you shall find, Knock and the door opens to you, For in your heart, Him you will find. No shadow can withstand the light, No shade is to dark to see, For darkness such and in man’s heart, From His holy light shall flee.

Raven claws scuffled on the floor of the Caberet room. Not far off (about the normal length of a raven from head to toe) the Raven's beak tried in vain to get a grip on the floor and provide a point of leverage. The Raven attempted flight again. The flurry of fur and feathers subsided briefly before continuing with renewed vigour. The Raven sneezed. Several kittens pounced. The mug spun across the floor like a top (with an orc for ballast) and cleared a small patch of floor amidst the kittens. The Raven made a renewed bid for freedom and managed to spin the mug faster upon the edge of its rim, the spinning shape of the Raven now making a blurred 'V' in the middle of the floor. "stop with the flapping bird, you gonna make us dizzy" Norman's vioce was barely audible over the scraping of the cup's rim on the Caberet room floor. The Raven flapped harder, managing to get slightly airborne. Norman yelled, the mugspun outwards as the raven gained flight control, swinging the 'Mugorcbirdthing' in ever increasing circles of the room, spiraling upwards to the rafters and eventually with the true grace of a landing bird, the mug touched down on the rafters above the kitten horde, Raven wings flapped for balance. The round edge of the mug rolled gently from side to side as the Raven fought to balance upon its upright handle. Norman kicked. The mug and raven plumetted to the floor in a flurry of flapping feathers, managing to slow the fall just enough to be bombarded by a larger then nessecary number of kitten pounces.

The raven struggled in the tide of kitten minions, sneezing and gasping for air at each tun of the cup that repeated ly pulled him under the furry surface. The four horse shoes spinning, and off balancing him more as he struggled to keep his upright orientation in the playful horde.

The mug scuffles across the floor amidst a furry snare, the odd claw taking a playful swat at the raven as he attempted to stay on the top end of the round roling vessel. The second horse shoe landed and spun around his neck.