The Magician moved
His hands a blur
He twisted Light out of Darkness
Conjured songs out of memories
songs filled words dark and true
and she sang
Songs of the function of Fire
the function of Rhyme
Speaking Love’s resilience
despite betrayal and spite
of the human spirit surfacing
from depths deeper than faith
where leviathans swim
of Order from Chaos
Life arising from the breast of Death
Speaking Hope where there is no Light
Miraculous deeds worthy of gods in times like these
New discoveries that lift the definition of human
like those of song and fire
The Silver dragon says
“And so fair fire-angel
what has happened to your wings?”
“They got stuck in the gates
whilst I was trying to escape the forbidden gardens of desire”
“Hon, that has got to hurt
Not unlike the time I got my tail caught
in the tilt-o-whirl of love”
Nodding agreement the fire angel remains silent
swimming deep currents of memory in her thoughts
The Silver Dragon stamps his foot
shouts, “The Service in this place leaves a lot to be desired
Can”t a dragon get a drink in this dump?”
The fire angel turns towards him, eyes lowered
and hands him a silver mug with potent red wine
He looks confused but takes the proffered cup with appropriate reverence
and mumbles something in dragon
“You are One So Rare
most hallowed and revered. . .
When did you start tending bar?”
But out loud he says
“Thank you m”Lady
and may the day of your healing be hastened”
then he breaths fire across the beverage
The vapors spill over
Cause a fog to rise around all the patrons of the place
Most don’t seem to care
and the rest are smart enough to know better
He drinks deep
as only dragons are prone drink
or is it only the fever speaking to my sickened mind?
in tired eyes
and mist covers the lake
as shivers take my body once again
Choirs of angels
chorus of demons
deep harmonics of infrared and razor sharp ultraviolets. . .
Rainbows dance in the coming sun
I am weary
bleary and. . . strangely alive
Yes. . .
Oh yeah. . .
Let’s just sit here a bit
holding on to my back
slipping around behind me
at the speed of dark
leaving its roots in shadows on me
Daybreak pours across the Face of the East
Golden liquid honey
cascading into my face, hands and
Night retreats to the West
Oddly. . .
The cool of the Darkness
adds to the comfort of the Dawning Light
A glistening, glittering spider’s web touches everything
An array of light and shadow. . .
and somehow beyond understanding
I am alive
T’alcydon is a very clever . . .
Well he’s a dragon at the moment
In this particular pocket ‘verse called Easalin
T’alcydon can be a very clever teacher
a very clever Rukesayer
of the young Metamorphs
the young Tyros
He has walked the Seven pathways
Has Spoken the one True Tongue
Has known the whip of Light
and the Ice of Darkness
That not all actors are metamorphs
But all metamorphs are actors
Knows that the problem of the metamorph
Is that you never really know
your own True nature
Never really know
if you’re faking
That young metamorphs
are the most dangerous
He knows this
And loves them . . .
On the Ninth-night
Nuxy and Chyfrin had held three Guardian Class dragons
and seven Gold Level Human wizards at bay in the arena
Chyfrin was pleased
Their status had advanced
And soon they would be given missions. . .
She curled around her Favorite oak
And watched the winter sun descend on crimson robes
He crunched across the snow to stand beside her
His spirit was restless
But he said nothing . . .
He turned to watch the sunset with her
and for the moment it was enough
She should be relaxed and quiet of soul
Their last mission had been fraught with nimble foe
and dangerous gambits. . . most satisfying
Many of her folk sang the song of Nuxy and her human
And yet . . . despite all their accomplishments
Here on the water world of ChenStrae
Under a sky the color of poetry
Looking across a Sea untroubled by Winds . . .
Chyfrin was of an unquiet spirit
And she often felt it. . .
In his movements and manners
So abrupt. . .
And she felt a strange . . . how to say?
There was something that gnawed her bones
In the dark of night
Gnawed her bones . . .
and defied her attempts to quiet it
And it grew worse whenever she saw him in the mornings
Whenever his eyes caught the light
Whenever his rich scent filled her mind . . .
There was . . . a craving?
There was a something . . .
And she didn’t like it
She didn’t like the way she wanted his verses
The way she looked forward to his return
whenever he was absent
The way his hand felt behind her ear . . .
She especially did not like that
And he was acting . . . strange
His eyes often watched her
even when she was invisible
His heartbeat would spike when first he saw her
His parna would fluctuate with no apparent cause . . .
And he was . . .
Well he was often cranky . . .
And the way he was starting to smell . . . delicious
She did not like that
And she would often lose her train of thought
Living in a nonlinear fashion
Recounting their exploits in the past
And her outrageous speculations of their future
She especially did not like that
Nuxy in Moonlight
Opalescent scales in shades of night-sky
she stands on the lip of the cliff
under an argent moon the size of a planet
lending a light . . .
painting the valley below in a pale pewter hue
I stand silent under a foreign sky
where colored stars sit like jewels
on fields of black velvet
her eyes flash in the wane light
Turns further to look across the valley
I swear a ghost smile plays across her aspect
the way she moves under the Arch of Ever
Not from the cold
The wind courses up from the valley
She lifts a slender claw
Opens her claw allowing the wind through her talons
I watch as she plays the wind like a pet
but she does not restrain it
it runs free to re-join again the ocean of sky
She leans back
her eyes are filled with the estuary
the infinite sea above the world
turning and intertwining
ebbing and flowing
I feel the undulating wind of her thoughts
brush past my ear
past my eye
she reaches. . .