Saturday, December 22, 2012

See beyond- the gender poems

wishing they could see beyond
this girl body, the definition of me.
but nay, the bounds are still set--
they will not see.
and we humans think we are intelligent.
when we are only like spreading bacteria,
no different.
and i walk along the street
with silent, sultry stares directed at me.
so i have taken to wearing 'boy' clothes--
whatever those are--
yet they still want the flesh
my damned female flesh that will rot away
as i get older, older, older
and who cares about my stupid soul?
when they can use this flesh
and define me by this flesh?
who cares that i like to be neither male
nor female, when they can just
define me biologically?
who cares about my choices,
my damned choices about my life?
who cares if i do not have children
or do not use my defining womb
that people think is the entire universe?
we think we are the universe
and only spread like bacteria
yet we think we are so intelligent.
so why should i be weeping in this--
this physical female body
when i could be sharing my love for the world
in my genderless soul?

no need to tell me how to act
or who to spend the time with
or what to talk about.  
you would not understand
why i do not go after women
or even men
to use them to my own pleasure.
what if i just wanted to form
a bond with them through my soul?
you would not understand
why i do not want to use my--
my easily misused masculinity.
nor would you understand
why i do not need to find myself a doll--
a woman doll.
you lived with yourself, biologically defined
pressured throughout your life
to be purely male, i get it
so do not try to change my personality
and say my instincts will 'kick in
sooner or later.'
but when they do it is not like
i am not strong or intelligent enough
to keep my true personality.   

Monday, December 3, 2012


I should be mad right now
For I was once eating my lunch
A mere peanut quite hunched
And when it was stolen, I had a cow.

I only realized until late
That the infamous raven had stolen it
And flown away leaving me to have a fit
So my fingers were all I ate.

Oh, that raven! I thought 
And he flew away cackling.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Loyalty in our Confusion

I know I have written many poems
Said many things to you in vain
Sung indirectly many hymns 
Cried in the presence of the rain.

Therefore you must be confused by now
From all of the fleeting feelings I stress
And you understanding me, I do not know how
I am honored how you overcome my mess.

The same, to you I am loyal still
Keeping your love while sending my own
Equally and oppositely from my soul's will
Neither of us shall be alone.

Keeping each other tied to earth
Our hearts are flames in a hearth. 

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


We may think about death
as we live
and as we die
think about life

When we may take life for granted while living
we enjoy it while dying
and the ones we love
seem so longed for now

We may walk into the garden
and hear the music never heard before
and enjoy the wind more than usual
grazing through our hair

Slowly things pass
never to return exactly alike
with its predecessor  
and we wander the small forest trail

So where is the hope
as we step onward on the ragged stones
uncovering sharp obsidian and sweet flowers
and do not know when it will end? 

Saturday, October 13, 2012


My dad taught me how to use the sword. He said to me once, "You will need it when you are in mental or emotional turmoil," and he would pick up his sword and hand it to me. We would practice dueling in the forest-- all sorts of dueling, mostly medieval swordplay where we would carry large, heavy swords, but sometimes other kinds of fighting, like fencing with a thin foil, or archery. I never understood what he meant by, "it would help me in mental or emotional turmoil." I would think, "Aren't these kinds of things physical? Surely one would use it for defending themselves from physical turmoil."

I never really connected anything. I lived in the forest, practically, and how could I, as an individual, possibly connect anything in my life? Indeed, I was innocent. But of course, father sent me out into the world as if on a draft of wind going by so fast. I went to a school for philosophy, psychology, and natural sciences, which were also mixed with artistic classes. I dropped the swordplay. My father never came to see me.

Leaned against the rail was an androgynous person, who had come from a small town and moved here to go to school because no other school would accept a person without a sex. This person called itself a "he," for personal reasons. I assumed he had been abused, a possible cause. He was chewing on something.
"I met you in class," he said to me, not even looking as I passed him by with my books almost squirming out of my hands. He had a small, red journal under his palm on the rail. I looked at him as he spoke.
"Yes?" I said. Perhaps I should stop to converse?
"Your name is Orlandis, yes?" he asked. I only nodded, yet somehow he knew and continued.
"I heard you do sword fighting. With your father. Or at least used to," he said.
How could he have known?

As if he read my mind, he turned around and faced me. His stare was blank yet wise, and he did have an androgynous look to him, kind of like me.
"I hear things. There is no need to worry," he said to me reassuringly. "I am not all that special. No special abilities. Nothing." He smiled.
I looked at him. How clever he was.
"I know some swordplay myself," he continued. "Perhaps you would like us to duel one free day?"
I nodded and smiled to him in return. I was honored to finally have someone to duel with, yet I had suspicions crawling around me, slimy.
"We could duel today," I said to him.
We agreed and did exactly that.

We picked up our swords on our way out to the field. Immediately as we arrived, he attacked, and it came as a horrifying surprise. I was fortunate enough my reflexes were fast and I blocked. We then fought for quite a while. He was much harder to fight than my father, although he was androgynous and looked frail. He was quick and strong as a mountain.
"Tell me your name," I yelled, avoiding a slash.
"Owen!" he said. 
That was the last we spoke that day.

I still did not understand what my father meant when he said swordplay would help defend me in mental, emotional turmoil. But one day I saw a bunch of boys slamming Owen to the ground on that same field we had dueled, in the exact same spot, yet Owen was not only looking frail, but being frail. I was scared for him and wanted to help, yet when he looked at me and smiled, blood seeping from his mouth, I became scared of him instead.

Later that day, girls came up to me, their fists clenched and stationed on their hips.
"Owen has debt to pay," was all they said, and they cursed me.
Something told me his debt had to do with me. I did not understand. The girls called me slime, an idiot, stupid for even catching eye contact with Owen in the first place. They then said "Your father would kill him."

Then something clicked, like a new lock being tried for the first time. My father had something to do with Owen? Somehow, my mind was becoming torn and riled, and it seemed to pick up a sword.

I approached Owen timidly. It was only a few days after the boys had beaten him to the ground.
"Why did you let them do that to you?" I said.
"I see the girls have told you about my debt with your father," he said, avoiding the question, a slight smile on him. 
"What?" I said, overwhelmed.
I needed to figure out what was going on. My mind was clutching, swinging aimlessly. 
"I cannot be with you anymore, or one will have to kill the other," he said casually. "Or we can both be killed by your father."
"What debt have you to pay?" I said, stepping back.
"Oh, your father is a clever man," he said. "I told him I would kill someone for him, but I was a bit, let us see, timid about it one could say. He says that I owe him my life now. He said that if I ever meet his daughter, he would make her murder me. Unfortunately, there is a possibility you could be, ah, slaughtered. One could say-- he is pretty much using you for sacrifice."
I gaped. How could I respond to such a sudden flow of knowledge? Should I even believe Owen? 

My mind was finally aiming the sword. I understood now.

by Aberswyth N.T. Oct. 13, 2012

Friday, September 21, 2012

Taken as it Comes

Until the very last star turns yellow and old
Until it breathes its very last breath
There will be age and age again
Flowing like water and wind.
Until then you still grow, and expand in the mind

Leaving nothing but your memories and talents behind.
Some paths you have taken--
Your footprints may wash away
But they will be imprinted deeply in others.
So the other paths are dead
What does one do?
Run away? Lie there askew?
Or does one simply live life, or charge to the future?
Take what is needed only and live in adventure?
Either way, you are that star who takes another breath
Exploring a new Earth year to be lived for and lived in
And taken as it comes, it is there.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Smoking, Reclining

Picture myself
With silver scales
Golden wings
Iridescent eyes
Skin as hard as armor.
I am a nothing
A dragon, of course
Not male, not female
And matching
Is my name:
Like the number zero
Full of nothing
Yet everything
For I am both of those
Yet none.
Picture myself
Reading a book
A small green book
Reclining on the rocks
Lungs of fire smoking
And icing
Smoking and icing—
A cycle lasting my eternity.



Friday, August 17, 2012

I Did Not Know Then

The graceful pelican does not know it must travel south
For the winter to come
Yet it simply does, no conscious thoughts to tell it so.
It is an instinct.
Just like how you did not know you must not lie to me
But you did anyway.
I was hurt then, for you had said you were tied to me
With a thin silver string forever
And when you told me of your other attractions
Towards other, more beautiful beings
I did not understand
And rage as thick as dragon smoke engulfed me
Blinding me in almost every way.
I did not know then
So I hurt myself, as if lying down in a thorny patch
I did not understand you then
And I feel sorry for it.
You were attracted to those beautiful flowers
But you called them poison
And now I see why you called me your water
And the others drugs
For you needed me, and I did not know
And I am sorry for it.
The silver string is still between us.
It cannot be broken.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Honour of Lyfe pt 3- Honourable Figure in Black

We now go into the history of the figure in black.  Who is this person that is mentioned?  She was indeed mentioned in Atrius’ story on one half of the planet, and in Riki’s story on the other half of the planet even more.  Well to start, her name was Honour Smith.  She was like any person on the planet—average height, average weight, normal dark brown hair.  The thing was, she did not quite posses the powers of sinurgie on one half of the planet, nor the high, fancy technology on the other half of the planet.  Instead, she had almost super-human abilities, and used some technology with it.  Therefore that brings us to the question: where did this Honour Smith live?  It is hard to explain, for her “lair” lies in another dimension through a portal somewhere on the planet, away from all society. 
She lived alone, and to amuse herself, she watched the two halves of the planet and their individual lives as they grew and thrived.  It was a good life, besides the fact she barely knew anyone.  But recently, she had discovered another society thriving on the planet.  It was a small society, but it was interesting.  This society was on a small island somewhere near the north coast of the half of the planet where lurked the people with sinurgie.  This society did not have sinurgie or high technology.  The people simply lived.  Nothing to it, really.  The people there were special though.  The reason was because they were all beautiful. 
Honour Smith was fascinated with the beauty of these people on the island.  She called them the “Divine Island People.”  They were all beautiful on the outside, but their souls were like any person’s soul—not particularly good or evil.  Just normal souls.  They lived highly though.  Even the lower-class people had good lives, treated as equals to the higher-class people.  It was not a perfect life they lived.  There were occasional quarrels, but the people were too civilized to go as far as starting a war.  Honour wondered how these Divine Island People could live on such a small island so detached from the other large societies.
“Well, it is like wondering how the people with such high technology are able to create food without getting real food and create barely any pollution, and how the people with sinurgie have obtained such power.  The supposed chemistry of this world is off, but I reckon it cannot be helped,” Honour said to herself.  “Nothing here is logical.”
Throughout the years, ever since Honour’s parents passed away, she had observed the societies.  She wondered why they were all separated.  It seemed as though the societies did not even know about each other—or so it seemed.  She questioned: were these societies always separate, or did something happen long ago, which caused them to totally disconnect?  Did a war happen long before she was born?  Perhaps a war did happen, and so many generations passed that everybody forgot, and all documents were destroyed. 
“There must be something,” Honour murmured.  “There must be something that explains why and how these societies are so disconnected.  But if the people on each half of the planet are able to travel so easily across the sea to the other’s land, how come they do not?  They must know about each other somehow.”
Honour was pacing in her room, around and around the middle of her red, intricately designed carpet that was a portal down to the planet.  She rubbed her chin in thought.  She wondered more.
“And what about the Divine Island People?  How did they come about?  Why are they detached from the other societies?”
There were so many questions.
Honour had devoted her life to finding the answers, since she had nothing else to do otherwise.
She thought of the two boys, Riki and Atrius, whom she had met on the two different sides of the planet, who were brothers, but they did not know that yet.  They both wanted to go somewhere where they would belong, but they did not seem to know about the other half.  How curious.
You may be wondering how Honour Smith knows that these two boys are brothers.  Perhaps you would like to know?  Well, this is all that can be told: she keeps the copies of the documents of all the people on each side of the planet.  Where?  She keeps them in a bowl of clear water at the side of the room where her portal is.  She scrolls through the water, looking through profiles and profiles of people now and people back then.  One day, she had been looking through profiles when she came across these two boys—Atrius and Riki.  If these two were brothers, then who were the parents?  If the parents had been from either side of the world, then these two halves must have known each other, even if it was through only two people, supposedly lovers.  But if that was the case, where were these parents?  Was it a forbidden love, and perhaps they were killed and the children were separated? 
Honour had found the document of the two boys’ father.  His last name was the same as theirs—Doamique.  He was from the sinurgie side of the planet.  There was no other last name in the world other then that man and the two boys.  The man’s profile though, had only his name, side of the planet and picture.  Nothing else.  The mother was nowhere to be found.  Honour had tried searching for the mother by using the two boys’ facial features, but there was no woman who matched their unique looks.  Doamique, Honour thought.  Doamique.  The boys had changed their last names to their adopted families’ last names, of course.  There was no denying that, Honour knew.  She still wondered. 
She remembered the expressions on the two boys’ faces when she had spoken to them as if she knew them.  Perhaps she should not have done that.  Perhaps she should not have said to them to stop wishing to be in another place where they would “belong.”  She did not want to deprive people from their wishes.  “I do not do too well socially, do I,” she sighed, and buried her head in her arms after sitting at her fifty-meter long dining table which no one else but her used.  “Why did I do that to those boys?  I probably came in too strong.”
She pounded a fist to the table.
“Stupid me.  I bet they already know I am not from their half of the planet.  That I am foreign.  They have probably warned their families or friends of me.”
Honour was regretting all of her mistakes already.
“I will have to dress like them next time.  I cannot wear my foreign black attire.  On the other hand, how will I obtain the clothes?  I get food and water from the market down on the island where the beautiful people live, but I cannot go to a market or tailor on the two main halves.  Surely no!”  She sighed.  She groaned.  She growled in anguish.  How depressing.  She stood up and paced again.  She sat down and thought.  She stood up again and strode into the room with her portal.  She stared for a long time.
“Why am I doing this,” she whispered.  “Why am I devoting my life to this mess?  I could just join a society and have a simple life, a normal career, perhaps a normal social life…”
Honour stopped speaking to herself immediately.  She realized that she was turning into those boys, Riki and Atrius, wishing that they could be in another place as well.  She shook her head.  She stood and waited, trying to decide if she should meet with those boys gain, or if she should do nothing.  Perhaps she should go and observe the Divine Island People more.  That sounded more like a plan.
She stood in the middle of the carpet and thought deeply of where she wanted to go.  She was soon on her way to the islands.

To be continued
-Aberswyth N.T.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Honour of Lyfe pt 2- Introduction to Tech

Here we are at a place where advanced technology has taken over nature, and even replaces it, causing this side of the world to be many different shades of gray, black and white. Even machines make even the food and other necessities for mortals. 
The people here do not have any kind of sinurgie, and therefore they use highly advanced weapons, matching the powers of sinurgie.  The people themselves look considerably different than the people on the other side, for their attire is generally more neon or metallic-colored.
Riki was just one of the kids in a large city by the coast.  He was a small kid, but not a little kid.  He was like any strangled teenager in his world-- picked on by the guys because he was too tiny and skinny, picked on by the girls because he was “too intelligent.”  There was nowhere to escape to, except to his flying automobile where he could soar over the city and watch the bustle of the little maggot people.  Maggots, he thought.  Idiotic maggots.  He thought of more.  Idiotic maggots that have been trapped in this jar of society and do not even know why the hell they have done this to themselves.  He waved his hand across the entire length of the city as he flew above it in his automobile.  “Look at this!” he said to himself.  “Do you think this is life?  Do you think this is where I want to be?  In this mess?”  Riki spoke to himself a lot.  Of course, how could he not, considering he had no one else to talk to?
He landed the automobile in a grassy courtyard (the first green in the city he had seen in a while).  There was no one else around.  How wonderful, he thought.  He hauled himself out of the car.  When he stood up to his full height, he caught a view of the main city square, where the public transportation was lifting off and landing, and where some military training went on. 
“Stupid,” Riki thought.  “What war is riled up now?  We only do military training a year before a war is about to occur.”  He squinted and looked around.  He spotted a figure in black standing at the edge of the square at the bottom of the hill he was standing on top of.  “Who is that?” he said.  “What person wears such clothing?”  No one in the military training session seemed to notice the person in black, which was rather curious to Riki.  Perhaps he might consider taking a closer look at the person, but on the other hand, perhaps it would be dangerous.  This person looked foreign. 
It looked like a female, and she wore a long black coat with black pants.  Her hair was short and dark.  She could have easily been mistaken as a boy from behind.  Riki did not have any long lenses with him, and therefore he could not look any closer.  “Why do they not notice her?” he said to himself.  Right then though, his attention was drawn to the military trainees that were now yelling and motioning to where the figure in black was standing.  Riki stared at them for only a few seconds before turning his attention back to the figure.  But the figure was gone.
Riki was taken aback.  He turned around to head back to his car, but as he did so the figure in black was standing beside it.  He jumped up in alarm.  No.  It could not be.
It was only a matter of minutes before the figure spoke to him.  “You are Riki Seto, I reckon?” she said, a slight smile curving across her lips.  He could only see her lips because she wore a black silver-lined mask over half her face and her hair covered her eyes.  “It is a pleasure to meet you.  I believe I met your brother somewhere.  He thinks almost the same as you.”
Riki’s eyes widened.  This figure in black—who was she?  

To be continued
-Aberswyth N.T.

Friday, July 6, 2012

Honour of Lyfe pt 1- Introduction to Unreal

Gracie lived on only half a planet, just as everyone did besides those who lived in the oceans.  This half happened to be where “unreal” things lurked, surviving off of the natural world and using sinurgie, (something you would think of as magic), derived from nature.  The cats, snakes, birds, and other species besides the people had learned how to talk in the same tongue, which any person reading this would perceive as any normal language here because the tongue which the people of this other world spoke was sinurgie, and could be heard in many ways.
Gracie lived in a village where the houses were made of clay, where the trees were dry most of the year, and where prayer ribbons were hung to dance in the westward breeze.  She had acquired the power of empathy, and manipulation of other’s emotions.  It was one of the rarer, most powerful sinurgies in her land.  Many people wished to have that power, for they would not only be able to change someone’s emotions, but deliberately control them at will.  Gracie was talented at such sinurgie, and was envied greatly.  She had much praise though.
“I reckon she would be good in the war that is to come,” the king, passing through Gracie’s village, had said to her mother and father one day during the Leaf Festival on the Seventh of July.  “She has that ability to manipulate a man’s emotions, and perhaps she would cause the opposing side to cower down with regret when they kill our side.”
Gracie had been listening to this conversation and shuddered with fear.  There was nothing she hated more than deliberately making someone show emotion that they were not meant to feel.  There was something evil about what the king said in that conversation, and she took the initiative to run away from her village, and keep as far away from her king as possible.  She traveled north.

The snow was kicking in harder and harder by the minute.  Atrius was travelling as well, heading in the opposite direction as Gracie, whom he did not yet know.  He kicked the snow and dirt; his old brown boots becoming shrouded with the glorious white and the beautiful black.  He did not know where he was going.  Not yet at least.  He had been traveling since his mother and father died in that war King Leos had so stupidly begun.  Atrius sighed.  Why am I even living, he thought.  What was the point of all this mess?  Perhaps there was another place in this world where he would belong?  His sinurgie was useless—levitation.  He snorted.  Levitation.  Who needs levitation in their life if it does not even to anything?  He wished he could control people, or use blacklight which was a power no one could survive if they were hit by it.  But no, he had to have levitation out of all things.  Therefore, he longed for a place where he would fit in—a place where people would respect him.  But he remembered something a mysterious figure in black had said to him recently:
“Can you not enjoy what life is bringing to you now?  Do you not know how many people long for what you have as well?”
That brings us to the other half of the planet, where there is no such thing as sinurgie.  Only technology and weapons.  

To be continued.
-Aberswyth N.T. 

Thursday, June 21, 2012

The hand closes around the broken heart

Turning white and stiff

Squeezing that last bit of life from the core

Until they scream for more.

The screech of a hawk

Soaring over fear as if it were hard, rocky land

Which none can escape

For gravity sucks it in harshly.

Fall apart, dear

There is no such thing as hope

Just as there is no such thing as death

It is all a concept.

But who are we to talk of the universe

And all of its questions that remain unanswered

Words, that fall flat and dead

When they are used to explain such things.

Pure water, with some specks of dust

Trailing along the forest depths

No destination

Just wandering.

So where is the destination?

The place where all is light?

But where is the light when there is no dark?

And the dark when there is no light?

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Silver Senurgy

He stepped forward.  The rain was hitting.  The silver eyes glinted once more before fading into a shade of deep brown.  "Jeya," he managed to utter from very deep in his throat.  The fog was drifting in and he looked around.  This life of his, he thought, so complicated yet so simple.  How is it possible to simply find yourself and your place in the world?  How does one just understand themself?  "Jeya," he spoke again, this time, a bit louder for the blades of grass to hear.

"Your tea is ready.  Jasmine, as you have requested," said Riti Sey.

Erre Sey's eyes crept into the light after having been in the darkness for hours.  His brother's voice aroused him from his slumber.  In a way, he was glad to be awake.

"Oh really?" he mumbled, sitting up in his bed.  He wiped his eyes, which he then observed through the mirror across his bedroom.  They were brown, like usual.  "Did I really request--?  Oh, my memory."

"Eh, I do not remember your request either.  At least it is tea.  Come on and drink, we best get going."

"Wait, we are going--?  Oh... I really am losing my memory."


A long pause brushed by the two brothers, almost as if it were a draft of wind, coursing its way along the coasts of Laylom bay.  Riti stared at Erre, disturbed.

"Erre?" he said again, this time a bit quieter, toned down enough that the grass blades could not hear him. He waited again, thinking of what to say.  Instead, he brightened the conversation rather than leaving it to veer into intensity.

"You are going insane again," he said with a slight smile.  He placed down the tea.

"That may be the case," Erre sighed, sinking lower into his bed.  He took his cup of jasmine tea and remained stoic for a while, lost in his own thoughts.  In the meantime, Riti could not help but sense something a bit off about his brother.  He sat down on the bed beside him.

"Erre," he said.  "Is it the fire again?"

"The wind this time," Erre said, snapping out of his moment of sticky thoughts.  He was not lying.  Jeya, he thought, and the name almost came out as a whisper.  How could he tell Riti about her?  Surely he would kill him.

"What about the wind?" Riti dared to ask.

"You know already," Erre groaned, his usual bad temper finally kicking in as he gulped his tea and let it awaken him more.

"Come on," Riti said.

"I said you know already."

"I do?  You have never told me about wind before.  You have always told me about fire, or wood, or mountains, but what did this wind do to you?"

Erre was finally remembering that he and his brother had a long first day of travel ahead of them to endure, and therefore he changed the subject as quickly as he could.  "Silence.  I would prefer to finish my tea so that we can head out sooner."  Riti scowled but he still silenced himself.

Erre felt a surge of relief when his brother ceased to ask about the wind, yet he felt guilty that he was leaving him to wonder.  There might be dire consequences in the future.  Lying never ended up well for Erre.

Later in the morning, the brothers packed all of their money and food onto Eo, a rather fattened eagle with a wingspan of about twenty or more meters and a span from head to tail of about the same, perhaps less.  Eo was brown, the plainest the unusually-large-and-bulky eagles could come.  Some eagles were gold, some were silver, some were beautifully iridescent.  Those were the strongest and most valued, but they were rare.  Brown eagles were the most common and the least valued of its kind.

"Eo is about ready to retire, is he not?" Riti teased, slapping the eagle in a friendly manner.

"He never was anything special," Erre murmured.  "But why would you want to retire him?"

"What?  I was only joking!" Riti said surprised.

Erre shook his head and resumed his packing.  "I do not doubt you Eo," he whispered into the eagle's ear.  "There had to be a reason we came together at the Soul Convention.  Perhaps Riti was joking."  Eo purred like a cat and nudged his master.

After a half an hour of packing, the two brothers and Eo headed off.  One swoop, and all of them were free from the confines of the earth.  The young Erre peered from behind the wings of Eo, looking like a curious child at the sight below.  It had been a while since he had flown with his eagle.  He always felt like he was five years old again when he touched the sky like this.  It reminded him of when his mother first took him on a ride with Leon, the silver eagle.  That had been so long ago, but he still remembered when he was being held by his mother, and being caressed by the wind.  What an experience that had been!  But these times were different.  He did not feel as childish on the eagle now, simply riding him for pleasure.  He knew he was actually going somewhere on this eagle, as if he had a destiny.  He looked away from the earth and his childish thoughts, over towards Riti who was staring at the map.

"Riti," Erre spoke.  "Have you brought your knives?"

"Are you kidding me?" Riti smiled crookedly.  "My knives are like a piece of my soul.  How could I forget them?  Besides, did you bring your sword?"

Erre looked a tad guilty.  "I did not bring my sword, but you know I have senurgy.  I can 'serge' things at my will."

"Well you have always been the lucky child, that is for certain," Riti said, suddenly becoming cross.

Erre was confused.  He watched his brother turn away and take out his knives to fidget with.  What was with his brother and his hatred for senurgy?  Erre had seen him become angry before when he had demonstrated senurgy for their father.  Riti had stormed out of the room and gone out to the forest to throw his knives for the rest of the afternoon, and he did not come back home until everyone was asleep.  Erre was confused.

He turned away from his brother as well.

"Why do you hate senurgy so much?" he asked quietly, barely audible above the listening wind.

"How about you tell me first what the wind did to you in your dream?" Riti snapped, gripping one of his knives so tightly that his hand turned white.

Erre sighed.  He would most certainly be killed by his own brother today, if not tomorrow.  He knew that if he told him about Jeya...

Quickly, Erre took himself out of his thoughts.

"You will hate me for this, Riti," he said, bowing his head very low.

Riti squinted his eyes, anticipating.  "Yes?" he said, urging Erre to speak on.

"Jeya...  She took the form of wind in my dream.  I loved her in the past when I was fourteen.  She simply breezed by me in my dream, nothing more.  I used to see her in the past.  That is why I used to go out to the river often," Erre said.

Riti stared at his brother.  He was either amazed or furious, Erre could not tell.

Another long and dead silence brushed past the two brothers, much like the one that occurred in Erre's bedroom.  It was a long, anticipating pause.

But this pause was soon ended when a draft of wind suddenly uplifted Eo in such a harsh manner.  Eo jolted and squawked, trying to regain his balance.  The two brothers broke from their state of anticipation and glanced around.  "What was that?" Riti said, his voice quavering slightly.  Erre peered again from behind the eagle's wing to see where that unusual draft of wind had come from.  A little light was flickering on the river that they were flying above.  The flicker came closer.  It was not a just a flicker.

To be continued...

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Grass and Sorrow

The tree has fallen today
Leaving the golden, disturbed bees to flee
Only in these woods do I wander alone
Tasting yesterday’s spice on my tongue
My salty refusal towards all who care for me.
The red tailed hawk soars slightly south
For in its youth it cannot control
Its newly fledged wings
Beating as fast as a heart full of spice.
The grass unfolds to the light
Of this newly rising sun—
Its rays like the majestic lion’s mane.
I unfold with the long, dancing blades
And become green—a tinge of hope.
But hope only peers in through the folds of night
When there is sorrow in me that is flowing.
Not when there is harsh, staccato sorrow
But only when it flows in
Like a river.
I cannot repel my society, for I am part of it
But if I could only turn—
Unfold like the blades of grass—
From grey to gold I would turn, I would rain tears
Of joy.   

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Blossoms of Stars

Grace stares at the wind
Gathering the stars into her palms
Watching thoughtfully 
With her intelligent silver eyes.
The nights turn from blue to black
I stare as well
Watching Grace stride
In her flowing white attire.
Her pale skin shimmering
In the light of the floating silken moon
Her soft golden hair almost glowing.
I lay there to admire the sight
Such a sight it is--
Like the rising sun
In a universe of galaxies
And a galaxy of stars.
Grace, my perfect shadow of well-being
Does not see me
And only stares blankly ahead
Like sparrow
Already taken away from its life.
Those intelligent silver eyes
Do not even notice me.
My eyes turn from brown to black
And are shrouded with stars 
Creating a universe.
My arms turn from the arms of a musician
To wings that soar.
I fly above Grace in my mind
My shallow little mind
Only growing more shallow
But I fly above her
To see the world and learn what there is.
My eyes are not the color of silver
My life is plain as a grassy field
But each feather on the wings of my mind
Adds to become the wing itself
My wing grows to become the wind
And the wind grows to become the stars.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Superior Wings

Feathers like stars in the wind

Flapping silent and clear

In a state of pure solitude

Do you wander alone.

Your freedom

To watch everything from above

Black eyes that scrutinize the land

No need to bother

Giving land lubbers a helping hand

For they do not bother

To give a hand to you.

They do not notice you hover

In that still, suspended manner you do

But you can see them all

Shuffling along doing their own things;

Their more "important" things.

Who would want to be your friend?

You are just an object to them

Not intelligent

Not important

They could not care less.

But no matter how superior they become

You still hover above them

More superior than they all are

Even if you are silent

Flying without a word or opinion.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Wanderer of Dimensions

Mother had told me that I was strong. She had told me that I would learn many things and be able to withstand any terrible, dire circumstance. I was a dragon, and of course I could withstand any terrible and dire circumstance, correct? I would certainly be able to beat everything and everyone in a fight and laugh at them. I would certainly be able to rule the world with my godly appearance and personality. Am I not correct? Of course, what happened to weakness and doubt? What happened to emotion and failure? Mother was wrong. Even now I still wander about between worlds and visit different places. She had said to me that I would rule the universe. It was not only words of encouragement she had given me, but a command.
Mother had given me everything, taken me everywhere to show off my talents of writing, music, visual art, and intellect about the physical world, and even went to the extent of selling me to the all-powerful king of justice and truth and peace and what-not. I enjoyed all of what she did for me then. Perhaps my growing mind began to understand that it was all some trap mother had guided me through. When I became two-hundred eighty years old (only fourteen years old if you think of it in human years), I escaped from my mother. I left no note and no sign of where I would go.
Why had mother done all of these things for me in the first place? The answer for me remains unknown. She had always told me that she wanted the best for me and everyone to respect me because I was a "Nothing"-- neither male nor female. She thought that everyone would stop teasing me. People only teased me more because my mother did no much for me, and they thought I was the most spoiled dragon in the world. It was true, until I ran away to a different dimension.
I currently lurk in the Eighth Dimension of Sooted Star. It is a fine place-- a nearly unspoiled world where there are no developed cities or technology. I do not write, draw, or create music anymore. My only creative hobby is making little things out of sticks or rocks or whatever there is to find that is natural. I am content now. I have recently turned three-hundred forty years old (seventeen). My mother has not found me yet for her revenge, but I certainly predict that she will find me one day. That will not be in years though.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Grey Sonnet

What color for a color is love than grey?
No more than a shadow of the past
Waving at our spirits living upon the sun’s ray
It is nothing more than chimney smoke outcast.
There is a bit of red I see in that flower
Blooming upon my grey, emotionless lea
And I hear your singing, pleading at this hour
Filling this blank, pumping organ of mine with glee.
A newborn lion never knew it could love
Never did I until so soon a time
But still, for you I cannot be a dove
I can only love you with my unworthy rhyme.
Longingly singing along with your distant voice
My heart is grey, yet my love for you was not my choice.

No Life to Regret

There is nothing to do now.  Nothing.  Listen, do you hear the cormorants calling?  Do you hear the bellow of the fog horn as the fog clears away revealing the stars?  I hear it all.  It is fading.

Look at the ravens-- a pair of living beings just like you and I, mated for life.  They do not regret like you do.  I do not regret.  Soon there will be none of those feelings left for me to convey.  Look at you, you are crying above me, holding your pen and paper, thinking about your regretful letter and how to start it.  But you do not know what to write, for suicide is what you intend, and how can one put it into words, right?

Look at the ravens.  They place their beaks together.  Why will you not do the same with me?  You and I are still living, aren't we?  Even if I only have a few minutes of breath to spare, we are still living, aren't we?

Look at the ravens.  One of them flies away.  I know that I must fly away from you forever, but you will still live for me, right?  Why do you sit in your dark bedroom with a knife?

Look at the ravens.  Now there is only one now.  I am long gone from life.  But you are taking the knife, ready to thrust, with your tears salty and your eyes black and drained.  Why do you hold that knife?  Don't you hear the cormorants calling, the fog horn bellowing?  Your crying matches its tone.

Your mother will run into your room the next day to find you dead.  She will blame herself for everything.  Then your peers will find out.  They will blame themselves as well.  The world will be infected by emotion, and it will spread so violently.  Will you not look at the raven?

Look at you now, you are finally putting down the knife.  Your tears are deceased and you are sighing deeply.  I am so proud of you.  I know I cannot be there to show it, but I am long gone, but I wish you to live on.  So look at the raven.  And look, there are many ravens filling the sky.  You are not alone.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


Oh those humans lumbering along

Conceiting per usual, walking in their strident way

Some are short, some are oblong

They fill up the night and day.

There is no room for me

I am just a creature of death to them

They stereotype me and make me pay fee

For all of nothing unto their thick stem.

And never will they soon understand

I fly above them, black feathers unnoticed and clean

Their uncaring society so very bland

They will pay me in return for they have done too much mean.

But for now I will fly away

And hope there will come better day.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Nothing and Everything: Chapter One

            “Come on and get me!” screamed Lymaka Nakuni’s little brother as he ran around like a gerbil on a spinning wheel.
            “Stupid boy,” Lymaka whispered, and she took her umbrella and threw it at the little pest.  She grunted with approval as it whacked him in the face, causing him to whine and whimper.
            “Hey, why did you do that Lymaka?  I’m telling mom!”
            “Not before I hang you by that little neck of yours!”
            “Oh yeah?  Then come and get me!”
            Lymaka’s little brother stuck out his wide tongue at her and ran away, disappearing behind a building, leaving Lymaka to sag with annoyance on the busy square.  She dropped all of her bags on the ground and huffed.  Idiot, she thought.  She waited for a minute before she started looking around at all the people walking and the fancy shops surrounding her.  She had never really seen this part of town until now.  She had taken the bus through it, but people always blocked her view and she could never quite observe what was here.  Today, the bus lines were being idiotic, and therefore she was walking home with her little brother.
            “Gin!  Ginneth Nakuni, get over here you little rat!” Lymaka called out furiously.  “I most certainly will tell mother that you are trying to get lost!”
            Gin peeked from behind the building where he had disappeared and his eyes grew wide.  He then scampered into view.  “No!  No!  No!  No!  No!” he yelped.  “Don’t tell mom!  Please?  I won’t run away ever again!”
            “I hope so,” Lymaka snorted.  “Now get your bag.  Let us go home because it will be dark by the time we get there.”
            Lymaka and Gin walked side by side towards home.  Their home was about two miles west in a small town neighboring this city.  The road to their town went through a woodland area, a creepy, dark lair, a complete and utterly strange historical site where there were tiny buildings hundreds of years old.  Lymaka did not like this place, not because it was a forest, because she loved forests and everything in it, but because of the odd people that might lurk here.  Even when she was fourteen, beginning her commutes to her high school in the city, she imagined that she would one day be walking down this road in the forest and come across a dark, cloaked, seductive man, who would kidnap her and turn her into a slave or something terrible.
            Lymaka was now eighteen and old enough not to be scared of things like this, but she still feared once in a while.  Besides, why should she fear if she has her brave little brother revolving around her like a moon around a planet? 
Lymaka and Gin walked on in silence.  They were now proceeding into the gates of the forest.  As they edged away from the city, they found that there was no other sound other than their own footsteps upon the gravel of the undeveloped road.  There wasn’t even any wind rustling through the trees.  Lymaka felt a creepy sense in her.  There is no dark seductive man.  I am becoming too lost in my imagination, she convinced herself with her mind.  But her heart refused to listen.
Lymaka became lost in her thoughts and was not paying attention to her little brother, and therefore she noticed that he had run off again.  When she looked around, finally realizing that she had been lost in her thoughts, she began to worry.  She was not annoyed that her little brother for running off, but she was fearful.  At first, she called out to him in a joking manner, even though her voice quavered.
            “Gin!  Come here now, for you know I will tell mom if you do not!” Lymaka called.
            Silence answered her.
            Lymaka was answered by silence again.  She stopped walking and tried to hear something.  She even held her breath to see if she could hear her brother’s breath.  There was no other breathing.  There was no wind.  The sky was becoming darker and Lymaka was becoming tired, and fear was growing inside of her.
            “Gin, come out.  Please, where are you?  Won’t you just come home where we will be safe?” she called again.
            There was nothing else to be heard other than her own voice.  She felt a strange sense of loneliness flood through her like a river.  She felt like she was deceived, or perhaps she was the one who had deceived her brother.  She had always loved her brother.  Why did he want to run away?  But Lymaka had second thoughts.  Was her brother somehow kidnapped?  She shivered.  Perhaps her scared thoughts about this forest were true.  Maybe there was a dark, cloaked, seductive man waiting to kidnap or rape someone.  Scared and frantic, Lymaka called out again, turning on her heels and looking around.
            “Gin!  Where are you?  Come on, give me some sign you are near!” she screamed.  “Come on!  Come on!  Come on!”
            She was close to tears, seeing that she had lost her own brother.  Finally, she could not take the worry, and she ran off the road into the forest.  “Gin!” she called again.  “Stop doing this to me!”  She maneuvered around the trees, tripping over vines and roots.  “Please!”
            Lymaka stopped to catch her breath, her hands grasping her knees tightly.  Something caught her eye.  There was a book on the ground, lying there mysteriously, wonderingly, and undoubtedly alone.  She stared at it as if it stared at her right back.  When she got enough air to breathe, she rushed over, picked it up, and stuffed it in her bag.  That is when she heard a rusting behind her.  She turned abruptly.  She gasped.
            “You!” she said.
            There was a young man in a dark blue long coat holding her brother by the arms and by the mouth.  He had a slight grin on his face, and he looked directly at Lymaka.  He chuckled.
            “Ah, I see who you were looking for now.  Is this your brother?” the man said.  His voice was dark and velvety and it gave Lymaka the shivers.  Lymaka tried to calm down, although it was hard to.  She needed to reason things out in a rational way and not act too barbaric.
            “It is my brother indeed sir,” she said with a deep breath.
            “You seem rather polite,” the man chuckled as he pushed down the struggling boy in his strong arms.  “Would you like your brother back?  I can make you a bargain.”
            “No thank you.  But you are certainly welcome to come to our house for dinner,” Lymaka said sarcastically.
            “Is that so?” the man said scathingly, although in his eyes Lymaka could see surprise.
            “Yep.  And you can take all of our money and run, how about that?  What is it you want from my brother anyway?  What is on him that you could always take from me?  Besides, I have more things than him since I am older.”
            The man looked at Lymaka.  He was speechless and Lymaka could almost see a big exclamation mark over his head.  He then growled and let go of Gin and pushed him to his sister.
            “You people have nothing,” he said in fury.  “You have no souls that are of importance to me.  I will leave now.”
            He placed one arm behind him and one in front of him.  The dust then began to swirl around him, and his image diffused into thin air.  Both Lymaka and Gin gaped as the man’s harsh wind whipped around them.  Then the man was gone.  Gin was crying and Lymaka put her arm around him.  She could feel his pain.
            “You won’t tell anyone about this, will you sister?” Gin sniffled.  “I don’t want you to.”  And he buried himself in her arms.  They hugged.
            “I won’t,” Lymaka promised.  “Although it might help if it bothers you too much.  What did that man do to you?”
            “No!  Please.”
            “Okay, okay.”  Lymaka tried to calm her little brother with a faint smile.  “But I won’t let anything else happen to you.  Do not run away from me anymore, okay?”
            Gin nodded.  The two siblings walked the rest of the way home as quick as they could.  The darkness was setting.

To be continued...