cryptomancer Posted October 31, 2004 Report Share Posted October 31, 2004 (edited) A Raven sits in the shadows of the Pen’s rafters, seldom seem in this form now that his presence is know and welcomed, but now he seeks the knowledge of one that it has been decided by the fates that he meet. Slowly the Raven’s form shifts and blurring slightly, it forms a small shadowed figure who stands upon the roof’s frame, his state trancelike as he begins to read the works of history in the many rooms that his unseen spirit walks through. A soft chant begins, seeming to be but a breath of wind carrying words from a far off conversation. Lady of the Windsong, Free as heaven’s love, Breeze of words that flow, Whispered from above. Shadow hides your form So upon your words I write, But silver as my words can be They pale in your light. I read words of applicant, Describe the patterned stars, I saw the words of vision, That told of distant hope, That under different stars, Love still can grow, Gifted words to a child, Seen young, and fully grown, Words of love’s knowledge, From the heart they make their home, Visions of spirit summoned Wash of life’s pain Telling of sorrow’s pain Until you love again A picture in a poem That starts a story’s trail Lady watching the growing storm Arms open like a sail Upon the words of ‘storm’ The lady tells true Of lives lived in form That in the tempest’s fury Is where we do belong. Like pieces of a puzzle Tenderness is found Moment by moment Grown in life, all around. Slowly the chant fades away as the Raven retakes control over his body. The trance ends as a tear falls from the eye of the bird. True are the words of a poet, and they flow deep with emotions. The raven sits alone, contemplating the beginning of a story, one told almost in a dreamlike form, a darkness in its telling. A flutter of feathers and the bird sits alert again, his mind once more drifts to walk the halls of this place. But his thoughts drawn to the depth he discovers at each turn, like the twisting of meditation, visions are seldom what they seem, but can tell you more that any dream. The chant begins once more, drifting as the form of the Raven once more slips into a trance. Lady of the Windsong Words again ring true For pain is but a part of life Ending it will never do. Describing anger Shortness Pure Emotive Gift of words once more brings joy. A sudden flutter of wings and the Raven is gone, his trance ending even as he took flight, perhaps he has found a chance to describe the Lady of the Windsong, Words can tell much of the workings of the heart and mind, they will show flickers of the soul to those that look close enough, but this may offer a clue to the appearance of the one he seeks, a story, one with a character that appears under the same name. Entering the conservatory, the Raven seeks a position in the rafters of the room, and then as he watches the antics of those already there, enjoying the distraction momentarily, his spirit once again begins its search. Grace and agile for her shape That from the rafters fell And in brief she did show Mauve eyes and deep black curls. Magic in the words, Magic in the blood, Magic forms the skills, Magic is what she does. The eyes of the Raven open again, the avian thoughts shift up a gear. “Ok”, he says to the wood of his perch, “So, the Lady Windsong is a mage.” A note drifts into the mental view of the bird in the rafters, just a short specification list almost, Age: undeterminable but she looks 25 Height: 5'2" Weight: 100lbs Eyes: mauve Hair: Black, long and very curly The Raven grins to himself, “Full credit to the Lady Windsong, she is elusive.” Settling down into the perch in the roof, the Raven once more begins to explore the written works in the many collections of stories that this room seems to offer. In the deep recesses of the caffeine influenced mental carnage that is the mind of the Raven a small portion of sensible thought begins to occur, forming in its centre a small glowing script of coherent verse. Lady Windsong of the words, Breeze that the heart moves, I read and read, still I find No hint save description of your eyes. Curls of black and eyes of mauve, Magic cast in poem and prose, Visions of emotion’s gift To all who read your crafted lyric. Search of lettered verse to find An image of you for the mind To hold as I read, to see you, But elusive as the breeze you flew. The Raven drops to the air below his perch and in a few wing beats glides out of the room. Edited October 31, 2004 by cryptomancer Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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