Something I hope makes your day brighter, or at least more restful. No words required in worlds made new No songs are mired in what we do. Shape the stone and gather clay And stand at dawn to face the day. Pour out the water to waiting hands. Breath incense in and raise high the… Read More Rhythm of the Day
Doing some world building. A song the Tuatha de Danann in one of my worlds, sing at funerals. Drink with me to life now past A weave yet bound and freed to joys once sung that could not last Though they ever stand to read. The mists now call, the guide awaits And the captive… Read More Edge of the Mists
Sometimes the most powerful act is keeping the lights lit so someone can see their way home. One drop, two drop, three drops, four Drops of rain upon the door, Drops of rain in bitter cold As hope itself is growing old. Old though hope can ever grow The cut of day comes swift to… Read More The Waiting Light
In my Blackwood world, the creation myth (which is another poem here: Blade of Dawn) involves the first dawn being literally cut from the darkness. And in that world in Albion they speak of life being woven. So death is the final cut, the complete tapestry for this world looking on to the next. Drops… Read More Final Cut
Something more gentle than most have been of late. Softly falls the darkness, tucking in the day. Evening sings a lullaby and softly drifts away. The restful moon still watches over house and home, And even subtle starlight refuses to roam. The windows are all shuttered in the lantern light, And gentle voices sing in… Read More Falling of Night