The Epic ~ Pyper’s Dance (4)

Musings of an Imperfect Heart

His pain…

She has walked through the fire all her life,
the roar of chaos she can take
the dancing creatures of energy and light,
they are energy and light,
how bad can they be?

But his pain,
she cannot bear the sound of his pain,
even in the maelstrom,
his pain is all she hears,

looking from the door frame,
she sees nothing,
the thunder pounds her,
and through it all,
his pain is all she can hear,
all she can feel…

if only she can touch those inner chasms,
find the switch,
yes, the switch,
there must be a switch?

To cut the circuit,
reroute it somehow
these are things she does not know
does not understand
but she wants to end his suffering,

she feels helpless
but his pain, his suffering must stop,

surely there is something that lies beyond?

Pyper, October 23, 2008

In many lands

View original post 358 more words

the incident beside the brae – what ever happened to Merlin * Dungeon Prompts: Only for the Fierce of Heart

you notice that you are staring down the shaft
of an arrow aimed directly at your heart

without a word the Dark Captain lowers the bow
returns the arrow to its quiver
unstrings his bow
and with a final test of its fatal yew he secures it to his back

with the poise and ease of a thing done often he loosens his ebon leathers
returns the hold straps to his sgian dearg array
removes the leggings to his pack

in a show of trust he turns and walks to the brae
bends to the water and drinks a long draft
when he stands the waters sparkle as they drip from his short beard

his hands are not large
but they are swift and horribly scarred
his legs are sturdy and his shoulders erect
(tough he favors the right shoulder
probably an injury)

he sits on a large rock beside the waters
and leans back against the cleft in the bank
he is now invisible to any casual passers

‘while it is never my way to tell someone what to do
i would ask that you might consider sitting a spell’

he rummages the pack without breaking his lock on your gaze
produces a bagget of course bread
which he breaks and gently hurls a half at you

its tastes sour but very substantial
you sit on a rock that is half in
and half out of the water

‘i loved a woman once . . .’ (dry laugh – no humor in it)
‘but i was not worthy of her glance
not worthy of her concern
oh, she wanted to know the warrior ways
and she had no limit to the number of compliments she offered
but her hand was more worthy than mine
and she withheld it’

‘i wonder if you have heard the tale of nimue and merlyn?’
he chews and considers
‘he loved her more than himself
he taught her all that he knew and more
and when she had taken . . . everything he had to give
she put him under a rock and left him for dead’

he shifts and his leathers creek
‘people often wondered at his age
wondered how he could master the energies of the unknowable
wondered how he could let a slip of a girl kill him . . .
but he did not die . . . no not dead yet’

clouds obscure the part of the sky that you can see
wind walks the trees
is there a coming storm?

‘he crawled from under the rock and took assessment of his life
and he found that while he still loved her
he could not bear to see her again’

the waters are becoming restless
‘he walked away
left the court and his friends to her tender mercies
and we all know how that went . . . don’t we?’

he becomes harder to see in the dusk of gathering clouds
‘he walked the world . . . a vacation of sorts – yes, a vacation
he consorted with dragons for a time, a long time
and he became a physician, a poet, an engineer and a warrior’

‘he learned all kinds of tricks and ways
spent time beyond the seas
and danced several dramas to keep himself entertained’

you do not notice the chill of the unyielding rock beneath you
you no longer notice the approaching storm
all you can see are his glowing cobalt eyes in the darkness

he lifts his hand and everything becomes silent
he takes a bite of the loaf and chews it
he laughs and it is the laugh that fills the dragon

he lowers his hand
and the sky is clear
the sun is warm
and the weather clement

‘and so my maid Marion
your question is answered
i hope to your satisfaction’

he smiles and wonder is returned to the vale
he extends his hand to you

Only for the Fierce of Heart submission

The Dark Captain * Dungeon Prompts: Only for the Fierce of Heart

There where the injured earth can’t hold you up for its own weeping
You will find the one ember
The Dark Captain
The last man standing

In the third falling of the Hellstorm
he was knocked under the keel of his ship
and buried in hyper magnetic sands
When the Angel of Death came hungry to the battle
When the PSI Scythe cut the minds of his cohort from their bodies
It did not find him

When the Recon Angels
Those who catalog the dead and dying
Fell from the skies after everything else had died
They found on his ID stamp
And so they gathered the ashes of the fallen
And gave some portion of the ashes his name

And so
When the Recon Angels lifted to the skies above the Fields of Death
They were sure his remains rested quiet in the belly of the ship
But in truth he remained behind
Tottering on the brink of death

The Priest in Charge did not question the canister that bore his ID stamp
Did not ask if this was in fact the Dark Captain
(though he counted the Captain kin)
as he returned the ashes to the Place of Those Lost

She died the soul death
beside his tomb
Never knowing he was still alive. . .

Only for the Fierce of Heart submission

The Epic ~ Pyper’s Dance (2)

Read this one second

Musings of an Imperfect Heart

Your words were like my favorite perfume,
exotic, leaving a trail
of hibiscus petals
for me to follow into pocket universes,

a witness of time gone by,
a time that had not happened
and alternate spaces
of things running parallel to my own
limited view of what is.

A teacher of all things I do not understand,
and maybe I do not need to understand,
but accept that there might be more
then I allow myself to see.

And you ask, did they please me?
Were they offering enough?

I can ask the same,
I wanted no more than you were able to give,
I needed only the privilege of reading you,
of knowing you, of sharing this language of poetry

with you.

Most pleasing yes, but is it enough?

Just what is enough when it comes to reading you?

I shall always be thirsty for more…

Pyper , October…

View original post 146 more words

The Epic~ Pyper’s Dance (3)

Musings of an Imperfect Heart

She peered around the door,
the floor was no longer a floor,
and she was no longer standing on…

What is this place?

The wind was howling,
the sky itself was spinning
debris flew all around
she can hear the chaos,
see things she cannot comprehend
in this dark, strange place.

She was not afraid,
she looked it in the eye
her arms raised and she became a part of it.

She stood there for some time,
hair whipping in the wind,
yards of fabric billowed around her
her head leaned back as she
listened to the sound
listened until she can hear it no more….

her eyes opened
she looked back to the door
and it was no longer a door
but a beating, living thing
disappearing in a flash of light

and when the light dimmed
the cue ball fell…

Pyper, October 22, 2008

She comes to some…

View original post 387 more words

The Epic – Pyper’s Dance (1)

excellent poetical work from

Musings of an Imperfect Heart

I found him,
I found his words…

How can I explain
the depth,
the breadth,
the height.

I was afraid of heights,
I was afraid of falling,
the view was dizzying
but like a fiend
I wanted to go higher.

Within his words I found his heart,
a heart that beat with love and life,
a heart as cold as the crystalline tears he cried
yet underneath, I felt the heat
I saw the glow…

His silent scream deafening to my ears,
I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how.
I didn’t know how to heal him.

Me, a healer, who cannot heal,

so I closed my eyes searching for a way,
perhaps I closed them for a second too long.

I heard the sound of his wings as he flew away,
I turned to leave, tear in my eye
what he didn’t see were the crumbs I left…

View original post 110 more words

my book

a little shameless self promotion
Here There Be Dragons – the Artist Path


A poetical anthology collection of 23 works crafted by award winning poet William C. Burns, Jr. This particular tome explores the rhyme and reason of living the artistic life. From the dark influences of the L’hiannan Sidhe to the pressing needs of the Person from Porlock this collection is sure to move you in one direction or the other 🙂