I feel you, gentle sentinel
nay, not your physical form
built of ash and mineral
from the heart of a long dead mountain
I feel your presence here
in this garden, quiet solitude in evening comfort
what a grand place this is
how fitting you should live in such a realm
of greenery and fine reminders of rebirth
tenderly does the leaf of the mighty oak fall
upon the layers of its ancestors
who have made the same decent in the autumn evening air
to the funerary weeping of the mourning dove
what a fine place to contemplate
I know your question
I can hear it in your mind of stone
how quizzical the look in your eyes
forever affixed upon the happenings of this place
You seek to know
why I kneel here in quiet supplication
and to whom do I offer my prayers
what hope have I that some celestial ear
will gather my mortal murmurings of heartbreak
and in doing so
be moved to move upon that sorrow
with swift hand conjure some fragment of bijou joy
oh, how I wish it were so facile
how, you ask
do I seek assistance from the denizens of what lies
beyond this mortal world
am I not a man of means
no your eyes do not deceive dear friend
I do not wear the clothes of a pauper
nor the finery of a king
my shoulders know the weight of the pauldron
my hips, the snug embrace of the belt and scabbard
yes these veteran lines upon my face speak ill of my age
but strongly of the scars that lie scattered among them
there is grey in my beard
yet underneath, at my throat, thrums the heartbeat of youth
my eyelids are heavy with the passage of time
but I do not regret to have witnessed
those sights which have passed before my eyes
and now you wonder
do I speak these truths to explain I have no more need
for this mortal existence
why have I come to this place
among the hawthorn and juniper
within the reverent hum of insects
like monks in concert within gothic halls
I hear the passing of the world
as we travel around our guardian star
you may take me at my word
I’ve no more want to see an end to this life
than I wish to see that time will erase the peacefulness
of your features
I see you clasp a quill to your arm
you and I know a similar road then
dear guardian, I will say that I am well acquainted
with that instrument of art you hold against you
within my chest beats the heart of a poet
though I know my words here seem small and of amateur fabrication
I tell you, I have written entire worlds into existence
I have told stories of heart and mind
I have rendered many creatures like yourself
backs supporting wings of great pinions
and engineered their pious touch upon those who have read about them
please understand I make no pretense
when I say that I am one of your brood
but of course you know this
it’s why you regard me so comfortably with your graceful face
forgive me for not mentioning it sooner
I am also considered churlish on occasion
I have a hard exterior but the softest of hearts
such is my vow
please do not judge me harshly
but I ask you, gentle spirit
though it is hubris for me to say out loud
what have my gifts done for me
what have they brought me except some sense of adulation
when someone has run their fingers along the broken edges of my heart
and called it “beautiful”
aye, there is beauty in tragedy
but it is tragedy nonetheless and does not leave a good ending
for the closing of the curtain
what good does it do
for me to profess my love
for the Daughter of the Ebon Flame
when her touch is as alien to me as water is to fire
at the moment we connect
I am doused
and she
she touches my mind, all the same
and through her influence I carve my heart upon reams of parchment
and in turn I find that in the morning when I wake
she has sewn another wound closed
the wreath in your hand offers peace
and I am happy to accept it
with glad praise and a hand on my chest I would take it back with me
I would bring it to my home
and place it upon the mantel
and rejoice in the existence of the sentiment
while candlelight played across its leaves
and the smells and tastes of friendship and company
resonate within the walls of my hall
I’ll drink a cup to your health and your granite heart
and thank the fates for this fortuitous meeting
but I will not return here
in future days to relive this experience with you
for you in your static state
you remind me of my choices
and that I am, being of flesh and raw blood
you will stand here long after I am gone
and though children may come and climb upon your wall
and eat fruit while their feet dangle amidst the vines that embrace you
I will be nothing more than an afterthought
a few scrawled words between flat pieces of leather
I will be the echo inside the hearts of those who come after me
but I will not be here to talk with you again
and my only friend will be the dark and warm arms of the earth

About Eric

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s