Lacertae 

Ducks. Snow. Tamed memories.

Little things I remember. 

Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. 

Eclipse. Moonshine. 

Pentagram, in a logical place.

Never, ever, even being. 

Your words that saved me. And these little things I do. 

Pain gone. That’s a comfort.

I’m trying. Trying to be worthwhile. 

Desolation the empty. Insidious clouds empty snow. But they are fleeting. 

Worthwhile? What is that to a tiny snowflake? To a duck on the lake waiting out the rain? 

The world, the essence of it, comes from our little bits of time. 

Yours, to breif. 

Please light the dark, then dark the light

Angry dark, I have talked to it. Like in the old days. Where their any old days? It’s hard to tell if you travel.

Anger out of light, I have mortified on them. Like the crew stepped out to the craywolf lair. Their claws, teeth and tails.

My crew, my friends. I’m shaking at the thought. The darkest moments of my life, flights of arrows. The fighter planting the  shadows. The girl I love, turning her body into the shape of a dire wolf. My oldest friend casting a lightning bolt into the fray.

Their dead, all the same. Clacking in the court. The light of the room of people in suits, standing me over a barrel. The prosecutor gaining the jury’s bellows. The man I hate, turning my words into the shape of a demon in the sky.

Craywolf, skitter out of their nest. Hard shelled clawed beasts ten foot tall, six foot wide. Come at us in numbers higher than the sky. Overrun the shadow fighter, their claws blight him until he dies.

Dire, dire, wolf, the girl I love takes bites of Craywolf flesh, her teeth munching through their carapace like soft tissues, manacles too many though, and blood and fur run. I watch helplessly as my spells have bare minimum effect.

My old friend and I try to reach her before the end, he’s throwing lighting like the Tempest of Ger’tend. I try my different spells, the ones from my oldest toam. The first I cast turns their flesh into mush and tears most limb and bone. 

I grab. I twist, I have her in my hands. I turn to the friend, and say that it’s time to light the dark. He say, no but it’s time to dark the light. 

I gasp, I weep at such a hateful betrayer. In a single step, the girl no more than dust. His spells are just as powerful as mine and I have only my speed of thought. To quicken, I cast the one spell I have that will ace him in his step.

Darkness? No, a purpose for this spell is needed more than most. Given all my power it will surely have to work. I speak the words, the little things that are so powerful and with a little quirk. He can cannot assertain what I’m about to say. 

Quod est cogitare et terribilis apon anima tua!

Suddenly the lighting, the flesh, the wind, every spell he has ever cast upon another being is cast upon him. The effect upon him is gruesome, and quick. He is dead long before the spell finishes. I am hopeful that such a thing never happens to me. 

I weep. Their dead all the same. I’m going to be in that room. The room of judgement. Having been such a failure. But I take what I can from this. The dust. 

I forge it, with the little magic I have left and the bold of the craywolf. In one little ring. I hold the remains of my daughter.

 

Absent telephone darkness 

Reaper to the sizzling wet

Long as your own chords play the astral ancestors  tune

Miserable mist flowers gape open 

Hands chinaware would be jealous of

Sockets, not unlike the depths of the deepest oceans in the universe, for eyes

I’m so excited to meet it 

I’m going back, again, I will return, and again

I’m not sure why, I consider it a friend

I, Mage. (1)

Limited absolutely. If I had a great dream, it wasn’t this.

The first symbol of Art, the hue that sits of the runes.

  
Ha, runes. They are ruining my concentration of late. Bundled in binds. 

I wild the power of the ancient worlds, every decision I make, a spokesman of the currently aggrieved. The faint of heart. The scared of mosters.

Limited, though. Each decision a tree in a branch of the year. The future and the past mushed like a madness. 

I don’t know what, I imagined life as a wizard would be like. Oceans seek me, mountains speak to me, trees ruffle the way the koi tickle their roots. I’m watching these clouds and am beginning to think they want to talk to me too. 

  

Significant halo, insightful tangle

Looking about face

The soup of her favorite song in the air

She takes her halo off

Polishing it for the first time

Covered in crystal hatreds

The mess these mortals make

Chords of their lives weaved in knots 

They scissor hands and scissor deaths

Looking at this moment, at her own thoughts

Knitting, striving, fated black ropes

Destiny, in these times

It took so long for her to be aware of this 

A warm feeling of the subdued grey lingers

Non one calls her by her name 

They have a word for her, and her 

Woefully worshipping, in the hope

Silently despairs, in the hate

Significantl tangles, a messy weave 

She’s not the only one who weaves

They do, themselves make it, their are others too

Like, above and, ever pressent 

Immortals is the wrong word

They are: Longen. 

Moon staring at a stormcloud

Sitting in her steller mezanine, grey and high, gentle whispers of tears came from Moon

Tendrils of light reflected in the teardrop pool forking its way through the dust near her feet

Stormcloud gathers his strength, at a odd loss to know the ways of the hearts of the Longen

They live so long, see so much. He thought as he edged his way towards Moon. He knew he had but hours to live. It made his tummy rumble and he remembered his own brief youths. Every day he died. Every day he was born. Grew old. Grew up. 

Till he dies just before Sun, his mother gives birth to him again. One of many sons and dughters of the Longen.

Would he ever reach Moon? 

Every day he tried and every night he failed. These gentle wispy tears falling. Falling. 

Stormcloud would never know why.