April 29: Realism/magical

Moira's tapestry; The adept practitioner; Promise of the fae; The covenant


Moira's tapestry

There is a special weight to thread of dusk,
the interlinked minds in a matrix of dreams—
a weaving in the making, strings loose
and Moira deftly winds them into one another,
mocking lies and uncovering obscure truths, but
she ever only spoke in metaphors, to keep those
delicate strings on a simmer,
disturbed, perhaps, but always whole, brushed
only gently with the nectar of creation morphing;
Moira touched my dream so, and spun a thread
that entwined around my fingers so that I may
twitch it at a whim – but the pattern is reactive,
I learned, always a tug brings a consequence… so,
I pulled only gently at first, but soon I was
grasping dozens of strings in my hands at once,
weaving magnificent patterns of my design: one
with which I could reach outside mortal limitations,
while some fell apart, unable to support
the weighty drops of wishes sliding down the web,
and others held so firmly that it was nigh
impossible to undo them, should I have so wished—
yet, Moira touched my mind in other strange ways,
fashioning specific thickets and clear paths for
reasons that left me bemused and wondering, yet,
I was sure, all leading to the heart of the maze, where
I know not what I shall find – the friction inside
manifesting into condensed heat, perhaps? air that
magnetically bends towards my gravity, or
perhaps water surging from messages sent from my
own dark ocean to their droplets in perfect resonance—
I embellished what I was given, those treasure maps
that are adaptable to any human, now encased in
ceremonial solemnity: burning sage, incense wafting,
shadows dancing in the flickering flame of candles—
and finally, realization sprinkled pale dawning light
onto the inescapable midnight of my consciousness:
Moira’s hand is the sojourn itself,
the lady of fate has me woven into her codex
that encompasses existence beyond comprehension,
and weave as I may, her pattern is far more complex,
though slivers of it may be revealed through my study—
so, I settled back to enjoy my curious gift of sight,
tugging strings subtly to shift the balance and change
the images woven – but always trusting in Moira
to weave me deeper in to magic reborn, to
touch the world with fingers that can understand both
pattern and path in the great tapestry of perceived reality.


April 29, 2014

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The adept practitioner

I wore midnight to a ball, decked in cosmos, swirling
faery lights with my fingers dabbling in the rippling
pond of lotus and nectar of dreams; a mélange of
curious substance and paradox, a drink
to make the body ill and set the mind free to soar—
and pay the price for many sunrises ahead;
my glass, though, held the milk of divination, a concoction
that merely sends eyes instead of my whole head,
cascading into the future where I fathomed a vortex:
time and space coalesced into probability, and I chose a path
with the hesitant step of experienced boots on my feet, and
found myself riding on the back of a cart, evidently
on the way to market – and more shockingly,
singing raucous tunes with a man I know not—
blessedly, the moment faded and I returned to appraise
the effects of the silky moon dripping onto my cloak, wondering
that chance would have me tangle with that sort, when I have
so much at the tip of my tongue, forming on my lips—
who or what could have the heart to hush such secrets? as
the eve passed with laughter intricately lacing the crowd,
you approached, of course, as always seeking help
and I dappled fingers into your mind, sorting, but,
before I could advise you, a thought grabbed you by the neck
and thrust you headfirst into the pond where dreams swept
you away in a rushing arc – and you were lost, in my eyes,
inside a wishful fantasy you could never manifest in reality—
I tried to pull you out, but you looked at me with unseeing eyes,
that unfortunate slack expression seeming permanent now,
and so I let you slip back under, the bubbles of your reality
popping as they touched the surface; I grasped my empty glass
firmly, and filled it with the essence of geometric harmonics
to feel my place in existence, threading through friends and
even a few enemies – just another complacent adept,
calling amusing lightnings by the host’s request and
fading into the night of revelry on this eve of survival
to celebrate another day not succumbing to inane desires—
and who has such in our world, where a flick of the wrist is
all that is needed? then I sadly remember your face,
lost in a dream, and think to myself that even so, there is
always something we want more, something to tip the balance
and transform a practitioner into a sad dreamer ‘neath the pond.


April 29, 2014

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Promise of the fae

The torment of your smile is a mockery of
mortal affections that fill me not: a bittersweet
elixir, addictive and scalding in my veins never rid
of the sensation once tasted – and my heart seems
wasted on your leisure, an idle pastime for a fae,
a lord with only a strand of thought in my world, yet
who rent a mystical door in the mist to snatch me away—
I sought a quiet moment, and instead was crowned a queen
of the netherworld, with frivolous powers bestowed
upon my fingers that now uselessly clutch my dress; you
gravely search my eyes and speak sweet words in jest,
and yet – my heart believes, corrupted in that moment
to never be satisfied by my mortal kin ever again, and
worse: I cannot summon enough ire to care, as your
smile promises the silken night itself as our sheets—
and where else would we share lush delights? but though
your voice is sincere, your gaze filling with a shine that
charms and terrifies me at once in thrilling sequence,
your heart is one of spite, I think, as I stare sorrowfully
at the canopy of mocking starlight that knows truth I
can no longer accept; I am a queen with my hair still
woven with gently wilting flowers, now that your touch
can no longer sustain their vigor: and that is my fate as well,
I believe, a single whisper lost in the gale of your pleasures—
a creature to be enchanted, but never one to enrapture...
...yet, however you have forced a taint unto me,
your silken hair is perfection spun, your deep eyes
thick with dreams that leave me spellbound, and
your cool touch so cruelly inviting—
thus, I accept my title given in contempt, and return as
bidden once the rent opens yet again… but before
I could step through, your eyes held me still, bleeding me
of my anguish and promising two worlds to me—
and though my mind knows it is not a promise
you ever intended to keep, my heart swoons to know
that one day, I may once more sip
of the noxious elixir of your existence… my lord fae
of the nether, my heart forever tethered to your whims.

Time passed in a slow agony, melancholy my lover for what
seemed an age; yet, something happened that I never expected:
I found myself one day in your arms once more – you
murmured that a fae’s promise is absolute – my blood belongs
to you, and yet, I am still the reigning queen of the nether:
and I began to believe…


April 29, 2014

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The covenant

My lover was a king of the wilds who wore shadows
like a second skin – yet for all his prowess, a simple beast
took him from my arms on an eve when the moon wore
a red ring of death: the eye of the underworld preparing to
snatch mortal flesh to consume, and for all his otherworldly
charms, he was mortal – and I but an apprentice, helpless.

In my anguish I haunted hallways of knowledge, searching,
spurning friend as foe, and my foes I brought madness: I put
tears of joy into their eyes to be away from my clutches, yet—
none of that changed what had happened; I turned my attention
to the arcane lore of old, scriptures forbidden and scented
with promise: so under a new moon, I summoned death itself.

Death came to me and insinuated power and punishment alike,
both gifts from his realm beyond ordinary magic – and he fed on
the depth of my pain, that intoxicating addiction and my constant
affliction – I promised everything but my soul: and, perhaps, in
the end I promised even that – only if he would return to me my
king of the wilds to reign beside me, and the ability to keep him.

He promised me power if I released him from my binding circle,
and showed me visions of decay should I keep him from his grim
task: I asked what he meant, but was sure he played me for a fool,
and yet, I began to wonder at the cracks surrounding me…
so I struck a bargain with the swashbuckling lord of the grave,
I gave him his freedom – and a chain to connect us anyway.

Death promised resurrection, the only web that cannot be
unraveled by a mortal’s touch – so, he said he would grant me
immortality, to weave the magic myself; and so he did, and I…
began passing from age to age, never quite understanding
what had passed – only that a shadow followed me now, and
while my king of the wild came, many others slipped away…

He whispered to me in my dreams, and even lurking behind
the eyes of my lover, I found him haunting – he promised a battle
soon to come, and reminded me that to him I am beholden,
the only one who can take as easily as he gave – and it would not
be my immortality he took away; I stayed his hand hastily,
and promised my bitter allegiance.

Time passed, yet no battles came, only insignificant skirmishes,
wars whose meanings passed me by, and kings and queens
asking my council – yet, whoever stepped over my threshold
gained a strange mark on them: I was very much afraid I knew
exactly the price that would be exacted of them, and I
on a quest unknown, but beholden to the enemy of them all…

So it came that I stood on the battlements beside death manifested
in my shadow without a summoning, staring down on the field
where blood would soon quench the thirst of the parched soil;
I heard the scheme from those cold lips, but did not believe it—
for he said that what I want is just in reach, all I need do is obey;
I did not believe his predictions, yet… I remained.

Time looped over and over, and I wondered where innocence fled—
I knew, when my lover lay cool in my arms, not dead, yet sapped of
something profound – and death made his demand of the heart in my
chest that never gave off the same warmth, and I knew, my soul now
was wed to that shadow: so I began the slaughter as asked… and with
my own price paid, immortality bled till the chain finally snapped.

A fragment remained of the poison in my veins, yet I was
startled not to come face to face with the lover that forced himself
into my king’s place: death did not come for me, and astonishingly
I was back at the beginning, ‘neath a moon ringed red, beasts howling,
and I knew by the magic bursting, my chance had truly come,
death’s parting gift an end to torment for which I had longed:

Ages to study dark lore, death for a lover
to know the value of life given—
I turn the nether’s gaze from the forest that eve
where the king of the wild reigns:
and after so long, after I defied all reason,
memories collapsed… and I went to join him.


April 29, 2014

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