Anonymous woman, brunette for now,
crosses the One Continent; Shayari
at her back, before her the west sprawls bowed
down by war prosecuted by no free
thinking fool; no not this time, not her fight
either, she’s seeking the old gods, those brats;
pantheons that disbelief broke, blighted
by mad fools who “never let go of that
fiery sadness called desire” even when
common sense should have kicked in and kicked out
such notions; butterflies dance where light dens.
Fallow fields, felled fowls and forests routed
stills her steps in day’s bitter washed out shine.
Mile upon mile, destruction falls in line.
~ ~ ~
Long grasses wave in the wind that sweeps them.
Scenting ashes and sulfur stink, she sits
to contemplate, her back to a condemned
barn, a burnt out husk left behind as fit
tribute to lives ill spent; how long had sleep
turned the season’s wheel while flesh and time’s cage
hadn’t contained her? While she’d walked starry keeps,
rode the lightning streak of time back to ages
when tech ruled, beyond that to god-fearing
times where magic’s rooted, sideways through dreams
to Shayari, where in a cave resting,
she’d waited for a reason to break dreams
and quit talking to bug eyed aliens,
those green skinned, rotund aurelians?
~ ~ ~
So engaged in her mental haranguing
was she that rising, she began to walk.
Her heart piloted her feet; fears roaring
in her ears, she ran north tearing up stalks
as she used every trick she’d learned to shrink
the distance between here and there– an ice
palace where justice’s sighs dismiss inked
claimants in that bustling, cadet blue, vice-
(and lice-) -free metropolis sculpted band
by blue-toned band by hands of no prince charmed,
or otherwise, though he had won her hand.
For a time she’d owned a name until harm
threatened those she’d loved; power’s price, she’d paid
by becoming nameless and like that she’d stayed.
~ ~ ~
Landscapes fluctuated ‘tween destruction
and verdant forest, then between glacial
sheet and tundra as her transportation
spell, which had a few kinks with its spacial
recognition, dropped her down a shaft soot
marked and landing her on a hearth’s coal bed.
She rose like a revenant and shook soot
from her clothes ’till sight of a frozen head,
and a ravaged body slumped in a throne–
all encased in an ice block three feet thick–
arrested her; she threw off shock and honed
her magic in on the problem right quick.
With the Storm King imprisoned, winter raged
unchecked, leaving spring a battle to wage.
~ ~ ~
“I did warn you about your obsession
with ice,” she said unable to resist
a captive audience in possession
of consciousness as his blue eyes insist.
“But what does the Anonymous woman
know? I’m just a wild mage whose rescuing
your frosty butt. What’s that? You talking man?”
His lips moved but words were stopped by roaring
wind that her tinkering kicked up. Some proof
of who’d done this vile deed? Pain speared her mind.
Blue eyes stole her words, rearrange and poof–
drop them back in new order in her mind.
Maelstrom…run…away…he said with mind’s gift,
the one magic that can’t be owned by theft…
~ ~ ~
The story continues tomorrow…
This post is part of Quest. For other posts in this lyric novella, visit the TOC.
If you enjoy this style of writing, check out Stars and Angels Sing:
It’s also written in verse (sonnets of course!) and set in Shayari. It’s on sale now! Get your copy here.
~ ~ ~