deepundergroundpoetry.com
Silver and Raindrops
- Silver and Raindrops -
Prologue: An Orphan in Shadow
Once upon a distant time passed, a queen both fair and wise,
Did rule over a modest realm, not oh so very great in it's size:
Surrounded by pleasant meadows, and by forests green, lush,
Where gently dwelled all animals and birds, all so diversely!
That one might look up and behold an eagle or spy a thrush,
Amidst trees where slumbered the squirrels, ever so timidly.
The people in their hearts knew only gladness, in the queen,
Whose kindness and compassion were fair: without any lies.
It ended on the day the queen passed away, whilst in a sleep,
Her heart swift breaking: from her king's battlefield demise.
As war left their only daughter an orphan in a land accursed,
Inhabited by that child alone, all else becoming of the dead.
Part One: Light Within Darkness
Upon the hilltop crag, within the darksome swamp of old mire,
There arose a fortress lost to time, forgotten for many an age.
Once great, perhaps, now only rubble due to humanity's ire,
Where dark shadows so were said to dwell, by many a sage.
Proud and mighty men knew fear and trembling in that land,
Forsaken as it was, and wrapped in eternal and rosy twilight.
Knowing well the fate of falling beneath the quickened sand,
There on the moors, most stout hearts avoided the sad blight.
Those who walked there, it was said, were evil in their heart,
And so it was that none dared to journey there, even to start!
Save one: a man shunned and lonely, though handsome fair,
Some say, and this one ventured hither where none did dare.
Across the marshes and fens, walked swift the quiet pilgrim,
His slender blade of silver cutting vines and webs in his path!
No hindrance would deny his passage, beyond that gray rim,
Where waited like a crouching beast the fastness in all wrath.
For if a place could hold malice, that castle surely had a will,
And a desire for evil, unsurpassed save in legendry and myth.
Hastening in all his steps, the pilgrim could barely hold still,
Such terror held the twisted green around him, like a wreath.
Soon, behind him lay the barbarous countryside so forsaken,
That had he not come this way, it would remain hidden there.
As he gazed up, the pilgrim spied the old lair, and was taken,
At that moment, with awe and fear, his heart crying: beware!
Mounting steps that saw nothing living in centuries long past,
The pilgrim strode up, toward gutted turrets and a silent keep.
Where no flowers or plants dared to hold, save ivy, ever fast,
To the walls: crumbled and blackened with years grown steep.
Casting open the keep's doors: which creaked open so rotten,
The pilgrim stood, at last, within this place shunned by others.
Wreckage and rubble filled once richly appointed halls within,
Until only old stone steps remained, that so vanished upwards.
He climbed those, as he had the ones outside, into higher halls,
Where once dwelled nobles in times brighter than these walls!
Devoid of light and life so long, that they have become unwell,
Thusly one could sense the sickness within the very earth: fell.
Though through a door in the halls above, the pilgrim strayed,
And found himself in a bright and joyous chamber, so arrayed:
That surely none but royalty could have lived in such a space,
Where rich crimson draperies hung, trimmed in gold delicate.
Whilst therein danced a maid both fair and young in her face,
To an unheard tune, eerily, her features ever so cheerfully set.
Lamps brightly hung from the rafters, illuminated all her steps,
A waltz of one lost in the madness of memories, of past glory.
The strange young maiden circled about, free of life's regrets,
Much like a butterfly in the field will flit twixt flower and tree.
She sang some old song, her voice like a child's in every tone,
Ever youthful: filled with hope, amidst the despair of her home.
Part Two: A Rain of Fallen Tears
The pilgrim wept to know such insanity in one so young, but he,
As is polite: stepped toward her, bowed, and asked for her name.
' No name can I give, but dance with me for but a while and see!
Even within these shadows, there is light, in warmth and flame. '
And so he reached out his hand toward the girl's, who covered it,
With her own: like a white clam upon the rough sand of a shore.
His world spinning, as her face filled the center, her eyes ever lit,
Like stars in a void, into which the pilgrim sank to his very core.
The girl's silver gown flashed like lightning as she moved about,
Faster and faster, her steps, until her dance was lunacy embodied.
The pilgrim fell to his knees, unable to keep up and full of doubt,
Wondering if what he saw was real, or some hallucination's seed.
All was black, and upon the waking the pilgrim sat up screaming,
The light of the fireplace, holding his gaze transfixed, unmoving.
For a long time, he stirred not, then turned his gaze all about him,
Seeing the same chamber in which he had fallen, no dream at all!
Everything was perfect: the curtains like new, all proper and trim,
Although nowhere was the girl-child in silver, in that opulent hall.
He left that room and entered, once more, the decaying corridors.
Following the sound of the girl's singing, leading him further on,
Past windows peppered by raindrops, rain leaking unto the floors.
A window blew open as the pilgrim passed, blowing water down!
Into his face, but strangely the rain was salty as the sea, and pale,
More like tears than raindrops, which rained down as loud as hail.
The singing led the pilgrim up one last flight of stairs, to a tower,
Whilst the girl's singing was in a time to the rain outside, falling.
Until the two blended together like a symphony passing the hour,
In an orchestral rhythm both surreal and unearthly: like a wailing.
He entered the tower, the pilgrim, and saw the girl huddled sadly,
Upon the floor, holding her knees as she wept and sang her song.
Rocking back and forth like a ship at sea, lamenting ever so madly,
Surrounded by morbid darkness, her light almost did not belong.
' Let me dry your tears, sweet child, for whilst they fall I sorrow,
There is light within you, I have seen it and will lead you hither.
Unto places fair, where bright is the day and lovely the morrow,
Where flowers bloom gaily, and fruit does not so easily: wither! '
The silver child's eyes opened, tears ceasing at bright dreaming,
Born from the pilgrim's kindly words, like a river softly streaming.
He dried her eyes upon his sleeves, and helped her stand again,
The rain outside ceasing: the curse upon the land at last broken.
He had stood within her tears, and saw into her soul, to deliver,
The silver child: to lift her from all dark musings with his promise.
Outside of the window, the first frost of winter began to shiver,
And the pilgrim and the child wintered in the castle, so blessed.
For upon the spring flowers bloomed, the swamps now a wood,
Fair to walk in; the lands transformed, into sleepy meadowland.
And everywhere the pair traveled, only goodness thereby stood,
Whilst they journeyed unto a fair future, walking hand in hand.
Epilogue: A Lost Child No More
The stars and constellations of the night sky, were shimmering,
Upon the hilltop where a pilgrim and a child lay watching those.
The child raised her voice in quiet contentment, sweetly singing,
Music to match that of the spheres above: angelic even as a rose.
Whilst the pilgrim taught her the names of these distant spheres,
Filling her imagination with images from myths and ancient lore.
So much time had passed since she crossed over from her tears,
Into the enjoyment of life free from mourning those lost of yore.
The pilgrim named her Phoenix, for she rose far from the ashes,
Of her lost kingdom, to inherit a world of wonder else unknown.
There are things more precious than gold and fine silken sashes:
When we do awaken, to one another, we no longer dream alone.
Prologue: An Orphan in Shadow
Once upon a distant time passed, a queen both fair and wise,
Did rule over a modest realm, not oh so very great in it's size:
Surrounded by pleasant meadows, and by forests green, lush,
Where gently dwelled all animals and birds, all so diversely!
That one might look up and behold an eagle or spy a thrush,
Amidst trees where slumbered the squirrels, ever so timidly.
The people in their hearts knew only gladness, in the queen,
Whose kindness and compassion were fair: without any lies.
It ended on the day the queen passed away, whilst in a sleep,
Her heart swift breaking: from her king's battlefield demise.
As war left their only daughter an orphan in a land accursed,
Inhabited by that child alone, all else becoming of the dead.
Part One: Light Within Darkness
Upon the hilltop crag, within the darksome swamp of old mire,
There arose a fortress lost to time, forgotten for many an age.
Once great, perhaps, now only rubble due to humanity's ire,
Where dark shadows so were said to dwell, by many a sage.
Proud and mighty men knew fear and trembling in that land,
Forsaken as it was, and wrapped in eternal and rosy twilight.
Knowing well the fate of falling beneath the quickened sand,
There on the moors, most stout hearts avoided the sad blight.
Those who walked there, it was said, were evil in their heart,
And so it was that none dared to journey there, even to start!
Save one: a man shunned and lonely, though handsome fair,
Some say, and this one ventured hither where none did dare.
Across the marshes and fens, walked swift the quiet pilgrim,
His slender blade of silver cutting vines and webs in his path!
No hindrance would deny his passage, beyond that gray rim,
Where waited like a crouching beast the fastness in all wrath.
For if a place could hold malice, that castle surely had a will,
And a desire for evil, unsurpassed save in legendry and myth.
Hastening in all his steps, the pilgrim could barely hold still,
Such terror held the twisted green around him, like a wreath.
Soon, behind him lay the barbarous countryside so forsaken,
That had he not come this way, it would remain hidden there.
As he gazed up, the pilgrim spied the old lair, and was taken,
At that moment, with awe and fear, his heart crying: beware!
Mounting steps that saw nothing living in centuries long past,
The pilgrim strode up, toward gutted turrets and a silent keep.
Where no flowers or plants dared to hold, save ivy, ever fast,
To the walls: crumbled and blackened with years grown steep.
Casting open the keep's doors: which creaked open so rotten,
The pilgrim stood, at last, within this place shunned by others.
Wreckage and rubble filled once richly appointed halls within,
Until only old stone steps remained, that so vanished upwards.
He climbed those, as he had the ones outside, into higher halls,
Where once dwelled nobles in times brighter than these walls!
Devoid of light and life so long, that they have become unwell,
Thusly one could sense the sickness within the very earth: fell.
Though through a door in the halls above, the pilgrim strayed,
And found himself in a bright and joyous chamber, so arrayed:
That surely none but royalty could have lived in such a space,
Where rich crimson draperies hung, trimmed in gold delicate.
Whilst therein danced a maid both fair and young in her face,
To an unheard tune, eerily, her features ever so cheerfully set.
Lamps brightly hung from the rafters, illuminated all her steps,
A waltz of one lost in the madness of memories, of past glory.
The strange young maiden circled about, free of life's regrets,
Much like a butterfly in the field will flit twixt flower and tree.
She sang some old song, her voice like a child's in every tone,
Ever youthful: filled with hope, amidst the despair of her home.
Part Two: A Rain of Fallen Tears
The pilgrim wept to know such insanity in one so young, but he,
As is polite: stepped toward her, bowed, and asked for her name.
' No name can I give, but dance with me for but a while and see!
Even within these shadows, there is light, in warmth and flame. '
And so he reached out his hand toward the girl's, who covered it,
With her own: like a white clam upon the rough sand of a shore.
His world spinning, as her face filled the center, her eyes ever lit,
Like stars in a void, into which the pilgrim sank to his very core.
The girl's silver gown flashed like lightning as she moved about,
Faster and faster, her steps, until her dance was lunacy embodied.
The pilgrim fell to his knees, unable to keep up and full of doubt,
Wondering if what he saw was real, or some hallucination's seed.
All was black, and upon the waking the pilgrim sat up screaming,
The light of the fireplace, holding his gaze transfixed, unmoving.
For a long time, he stirred not, then turned his gaze all about him,
Seeing the same chamber in which he had fallen, no dream at all!
Everything was perfect: the curtains like new, all proper and trim,
Although nowhere was the girl-child in silver, in that opulent hall.
He left that room and entered, once more, the decaying corridors.
Following the sound of the girl's singing, leading him further on,
Past windows peppered by raindrops, rain leaking unto the floors.
A window blew open as the pilgrim passed, blowing water down!
Into his face, but strangely the rain was salty as the sea, and pale,
More like tears than raindrops, which rained down as loud as hail.
The singing led the pilgrim up one last flight of stairs, to a tower,
Whilst the girl's singing was in a time to the rain outside, falling.
Until the two blended together like a symphony passing the hour,
In an orchestral rhythm both surreal and unearthly: like a wailing.
He entered the tower, the pilgrim, and saw the girl huddled sadly,
Upon the floor, holding her knees as she wept and sang her song.
Rocking back and forth like a ship at sea, lamenting ever so madly,
Surrounded by morbid darkness, her light almost did not belong.
' Let me dry your tears, sweet child, for whilst they fall I sorrow,
There is light within you, I have seen it and will lead you hither.
Unto places fair, where bright is the day and lovely the morrow,
Where flowers bloom gaily, and fruit does not so easily: wither! '
The silver child's eyes opened, tears ceasing at bright dreaming,
Born from the pilgrim's kindly words, like a river softly streaming.
He dried her eyes upon his sleeves, and helped her stand again,
The rain outside ceasing: the curse upon the land at last broken.
He had stood within her tears, and saw into her soul, to deliver,
The silver child: to lift her from all dark musings with his promise.
Outside of the window, the first frost of winter began to shiver,
And the pilgrim and the child wintered in the castle, so blessed.
For upon the spring flowers bloomed, the swamps now a wood,
Fair to walk in; the lands transformed, into sleepy meadowland.
And everywhere the pair traveled, only goodness thereby stood,
Whilst they journeyed unto a fair future, walking hand in hand.
Epilogue: A Lost Child No More
The stars and constellations of the night sky, were shimmering,
Upon the hilltop where a pilgrim and a child lay watching those.
The child raised her voice in quiet contentment, sweetly singing,
Music to match that of the spheres above: angelic even as a rose.
Whilst the pilgrim taught her the names of these distant spheres,
Filling her imagination with images from myths and ancient lore.
So much time had passed since she crossed over from her tears,
Into the enjoyment of life free from mourning those lost of yore.
The pilgrim named her Phoenix, for she rose far from the ashes,
Of her lost kingdom, to inherit a world of wonder else unknown.
There are things more precious than gold and fine silken sashes:
When we do awaken, to one another, we no longer dream alone.
Published 20th Jan 2012
| Edited 21st Dec 2012
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