Long is the night I sit and write of my devotion to the elders. The ones that touched the Crown of Creation and let its existence become known to me and all mankind.
I fill my chalice with blood red wine and fall into a trance as moon and star dance upon the surface of my nectar of the gods, the elixir that loosens the tongue and frees the mind. The ceremony has begun. I dip my writing instrument into the ink and gently set my hand to rest upon the parchment. The wind, whispers of those masters of yesterdays, slowly sets my quill into a rhythmic dance and leaves trails of thought in its wake.
With my quill and ink, I reach into darkness
To tame, from the mirror, the vicious beast.
Come forth Mr. Hyde, no Tears, Idle Tears.
It’s Midsummer’s Night, let’s count Bronte’s Stars.
Let’s weave the Knight’s Tale, slay with Sir Gawain.
The Tyger burns bright, Dream Within a Dream.
The Faerie Queen laughs, as Jabberwock howls
Grendel comes seeking those who’ve gone a’foul.
Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind an Ode to Solitude.
The Darkling Thrush might sing of morning dew.
Oh! The Last Duchess, She Walks In Beauty
a Meeting At Midnight, is This Poet’s Dream.
Your whispers are heard, and etched in my mind.
Your blood’s in my ink, your breath in my lines.
Thank you my many Masters!
I keep your spirits alive!
© July 31 & Aug 1, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic