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Thursday, September 20, 2012


Old and wise have I been called,
counted thrice the sands of time.
Mighty I’ve rode ‘tween the winds,
Gently gazing ‘cross seas, sublime.
Alone, I sat thru time a spell,
Bored with my manuscripts.
My parchment brittle and inkwell dry,
my quill took flight. I followed.
Weakened and tired, I touched madness
walked upon the Zephyr breeze.
Carried betwixt the gnarled ancients
into the dark gloom of giants.
Chancing upon a glade, shimmering
will-o-wisps beckoning.
A faerie flitted from oak to oak
high-winged and aglow.
“So long have I seen hate and despair,
I’ve forgotten how to believe,” I spoke.
As my tears slipped into the ethereal,
she waved her tiny hand. PING!
“Unchangeable the past. The future
Though written, not in stone.
I offer hope to you and man,” She chirped,
and showed the ember in her hand.
“man’s last hope and very last chance
is a little piece of love that smolders.
Carry it within your mighty heart,
not in the world upon your shoulders.”

©Written: January 23, 2011 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic : For my sister Just Lili, my Faerie Queen.

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