KOTL: Aura's Origin ChantAuras Origin Chant
Weve always been,
once with the fen
yet banished from their jealous sight,
when they could not surpass our light.
We were cast out,
in need and doubt,
so when we saw the offered meal
we seized it, and his grave appeal.
We gave our word,
and so they heard
our promise on the shamans bow
to guard the people of the snow.
And so we did,
that while we hid
we blessed them with our living light,
and helped them in the coming fight.
With forces great,
what is and what is yet to come.
The power of the unseen sun.
Oh, holy light,
you grant us might
yet with your power comes a price,
to always live upon the ice.
Yet in our home,
were not alone.
Within the bonds of sisterhood
we feel a force they never could.
will always be,
for when we die, we die a sage,
and dwell where we will never age.
Hear this one,
beneath the sun, (if met at night, would change to Hear this croon, under the moon)
then speak the wor
Learning to Live
I sit in my shell, like water in a bowl, placid and unmoving, content to remain here for all eternity. The wind tugs at my hair and my clothes; sounds strain to catch my ear, but I remain undisturbed. They cannot reach me here, deep in this place between wakefulness and sleep, swaddled in safety.
Here indifference is palpable. It pervades my senses and blocks out all others, like a stuffy nose without the uncomfortable pressure, or a heavy dose of Novocain that's about to wear off.
I feel a touch on my hand.
It ripples through my medium, past the torpid safeguards to touch the very heart of me, and I stir. I look up to see a boy with hair of gold peering quizzically at me through a pair of thin, elegant glasses. My heartbeat quickens.
"Excuse me is this seat taken?" he indicates the empty spot on the bench next to me. When I shake my head no he sits with a sigh of relief, resting his backpack on the ground with an audible thump. He assumes a position of comfortable nonchalance,
How many toys did it finally take
to make you really happy?
How many times did your parent's heads shake
in memory of their own pappy?
How many grandparents live at home,
and help the young and old?
How many years did it finally take
to lose family to the fold?
How many people died to live free
with a real family, not fake?
Now tell me once again, my friend,
how many toys did it take?
Out with the Old...
. The tree was old. So old, that the majority of its roots had long since rotten away, with
only the weight of its base keeping it precariously upright. The hollowness within the top half
further helped it to disobey gravity. Its crusty bark peeled everywhere, like a bad sunburn.
Most of its limbs had either fallen or broken off, except for the occasional twig near the crown.
It had survived countless storms and animal inhabitants, if its' multiple holes, scars, and overall
beat-up appearance were any judge. Its' height suggested that it had outlived many of the
surrounding trees, its' superior position lending it an advantage in light and nutrients in its'
younger days. But now, the exposure was more of a hindrance than a help, as every stray
breeze threatened its' tenuous equilibrium. Ironically, out of all the things that could topple this
tree, a pinecone was what finally laid it to rest; a falling pinecone, to be specific, from one of
the neighboring trees. Bouncing along th
One Infinite Moment
I sit within a shaded park,
I hear the birds above my head,
I feel the breeze upon my hair,
I am alive,
I smell the dirt, skin of the earth.
I see life moving endlessly.
Almost, I taste Sols' heavy glow,
I am alive,
Imagining the infinite,
I see the cosmos swirling waltz,
akin to thoughts inside my head.
I am alive,
I do not know what lies ahead,
I do not dwell on what's been done,
I simply bask within the now.
I am alive,
The Nature in Balance
There once was a delicate flower, all bright and blue, that blossomed only at night and closed with the morning dew. Sprouting merrily at the base of a pine tree, it was founded on a flora's fantasy. It had light, windy nights, and the water was alright but what a sight! A bubbling stream serenaded its dreams. In the afternoon it was drenched in buckets of sun, its thirst always sated. It breathed with the wind as it whistled and wooed, winding like witches on Halloween night, whirling like wishes to the silent stars above.
As buckets became fistfuls and the flower surrendered to the quicksilver drops of moonlight, peeling away its armor like a defeated knight, it was callously and carelessly crushed. The man's boot was merciless, and in its moment of vulnerability the defenseless plant fell before the onslaught, its petals collapsing and its stem crumpling like tissue paper. As multiple harbingers of death