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A Winter's Tale

Aldmer lay in a circle of snow,
Terrible wounds had laid him low;
Then Primera came to earth,
Bringing with her all her mirth.
“Beautiful one, as bright as the sun,
Surely you can heal me true.”
“No, my child, your wounds are wild,
And I must begone ere day has dawned.”

Lunch today

Gooey, crumby lemon bars,
Worker plays a couple bars
Of floaty keyboard melody.
Snow is falling, fluffy flake—
Colorado Sunday lunch break.

Gravemind

Image via Halo Nation.

Fear
Pain
Hunger
Become.
Let me go.
You are me.
What is my name?
It is a lie.
Why do you do this?
Why do you resist?
Because I am not you;
What do you want with me?
You and I are made the same,
Flesh and bone and blood and brain.
Live for me and I’ll live in you,
Share with us the life that you knew:
Memories of home and hope and hearth,
Fears of facing off the howling dark.
They are gone, and you remain. Think a bit;
Now at last alive to life, you miss it?
I? I am a monument to all your sins.
I know all, and so your punishment begins:
See the lives of others and live within their hell;
I in turn will feel your pain, all of theirs as well.
Come and share your mind with me, a mind of living grave.
Come and share a world with me, the world to me you gave.
Now the gate has been unlatched, headstones pushed aside;
Corpses shift and offer room, a fate you must abide.

Nighty-night

I wrote yesterday but need time to finish and polish. As for today, I leave you with this little gem:

Let me be—
I want to go to bed,
Close my eyes
And clear my stuffy head.

The warmth of the cold

Blowing snow upon the mountain,
Darting, dancing all around—
Truly ’tis the Youthful Fountain,
Yet in different setting found.
Graceful, fleet, chaotic leaping
Flakes into the ether flee
Only warmth, though cold, is seeping
Through the hearts of they that see.

Leaving Lorien

Arwen vanimelda, namárië!
Fairest darling, farewell.
Others may come, some try to stay,
But none will ever dwell
In gold forests of memory,
At home as the elves
In the heart of the man you see
Where other love ne’er delves.

Kind of rougher, but whatever. The idea is to get it out more than to get it perfect. (By the way, it's pronounced /nə mər" ē ā'/.)

Tim Jenkins' Driveway

Nightfall,

Snowfall,

Footfall

Echoes in the air.

Brisk walk,

Crisp breath,

Tryst-wood

With the snow at midnight.

Shadows,

Shades,

Silhouettes

Against a white world and a black sky.

My new year's resolution was to write more. Something short every day, something longer every week. (To set expectations: Short tends to lend itself to poetry. Long tends to lend itself to prose.) This is the start, and I guess we'll see how long until I break it. That's what new year's resolutions are for, yes?