#fire shall waken

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 13: Brilliant

MASTERLIST

Summary: Naera has a vision. Unrealistic erotica. An uncomfortable family breakfast.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, incest, dom/sub dynamics (very minor?), cunnilingus, creampie,

Long, flowing golden hair, tossing in the wind, in the darkness, in the light. Twin braids, that crept from a brow and behind. A face most carefully made, with the right shades, and the correct lights, with a long nose and a beauty all in all, with the most splendid expressions ever seen. Curls and spins and winds rolled down her shoulders, below a crested necklace of pure gold.

Her chin was held high, her eyes narrowed gracefully, her lips curved in a smirk only described as superior, stained with wine.

Pride.

Then, lower, and lower, and she wore satins and silks of the finest merchants. There was red, and gold, and a southern-styled gown, with sinking sleeves and bared shoulders, and flurries of curves and height to it all. There was gold, jewels, and intricacy in her.

Wealth.

A crown, of iron and gold, crested with blood, adorned with ash and rubies, winding through the hair of dark suns. The woman was dressed in red, with a crown of gold. Banners hung behind her—banners of velvet, with an adorned lion roaring through.

Regal.

“Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister?” A Dornish accent, aged and experienced, mocking and untethered. A Martell's voice.

Lannister.

House Lannister.

Golden lions.

The Queen?

No.

House Lannister. Golden Lions. The Usurper Queen.

Usurper. A Usurper King?

A running stag, running through fires and despairs, and blood and grime and fallen worlds. Ours is the fury.

Baratheon. Lord of Storm’s End. Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The Usurper King. The Sack of King’s Landing. A Targaryen Bastard.

A child’s cries, screeches, a woman’s wails, a towering mountain, and the ringing of steel blades being drawn, and silence.

The Fall of the Dragon. The End of their reign, destroyed by their own blood. 

No.

The Dragon does not answer the Lion. The Dragon does not answer the Stag.

The Dragon burns them all alike.

Fire. The screech of a Dragon, the flapping of wings, great, dark, horrendous wings. One, two, three—obsidian and red, green and bronze, gold and cream. There shall be flames. There shall be blood. There shall be the age of dragons, returned, with a great, wakening light.

Dracarys.

Red stone, red foundations, and flags of red and gold and lions, all burned, and all fell.

There.

The Conqueror—silver hair, braids, and braids, and braids, and the neighing of a thousand horses, and the singular stepping of ten thousand marching soldiers, and on, and on.

There.

The Age of the Dragon.

Flags the colour of ash, with luminescent crests of blood-red dragons, being drawn over the ruins of the palace that once was. A throne made of swords, melted and moulded to never grant any sort of comfort, any sort of support. A King must never sit easy. A Queen must never sit easy, and yet, the Dragon Queen sat atop it with a grace unseen, and a state of completion unknown. A Queen must never sit easy, and yet, the Targaryen Conqueror sat atop the Iron Throne as though she was borne to do it. Indeed, she was. She was the blood of the dragon, and all knelt before her—wolves, eagles, stags, and lions, and even the very sun, the rose, and all that mattered. Even darkness, even death, ever devastation knelt before the conqueror.

Darkness knelt before the Conqueror.

No.

Darkness knelt before Azor Ahai, the forsaken warrior who tempered his own will in the blood and death of his lover. The warrior who ended the long night, the darkest winter, the coldest eternity.

The Conqueror was Azor Ahai.

Naera opened her eyes with a start.

She saw light, white and yellow and green, and a sky the colour of the sea. It was boundless, rolling on, and on, and on, forever, and then some more, behind the edges of the grassy hills. Grass, green and fresh and fragrant, rolled for miles, and acres in every direction, beneath the boundless skies.

Naera sat in a dress the colour of clouds, one that was loose and light. She was staring up at the skies, blue, blue, and blue, and her eyes made funny images of small translucent circles running through and past the skies. A hand reached forth, curled a strand of her silver hair and brushed it away.

Daemon sat behind her, holding her, kissing her, breathing her. His hands were wrapped solidly around her waist, his head carefully placed on her shoulder, and every breath of his taking send shivers down her spine.

“Are you awake yet?” He seemed to ask, hands drawling up, and down her front, her stomach, her breasts. Naera felt lethargic, as though someone had sedated her, tired her, and lazed her away.

"Hmm?” And she let him venture lower with his hands, crawling down to the hem of her dress and slowly, tantalizingly slow, dragging it up to her knees. His hands settled on her thighs, running small circles on her skin that made her throw back her head and sigh. One of his heavy palms crept back up, catching hold of her breast.

“You haven’t answered my question, Naera,” and through his dulcet voice, she felt heat, burning and boiling and toiling, build up from her core. Daemon pressed a kiss to her neck, and his hands found her cunt. Naera moaned, whimpered, really, and he drank it away as though it was his elixir. He set a single finger within her, revelling at how wet she was already, and breathed against her neck, again, in a way that made her wish to jump out of her skin and devour him all the same.

“What question?” And the sun burned warm along her face, her skin, her bones, but Daemon’s touch felt warmer, hotter and more refined than the sun. She heard him chuckle, a low, rumbling sound that travelled down her chest in waves.

“Are you awake?” She felt warm, warmer, and warmest, and Daemon kept on his actions. He curled one, or two fingers within her, circling her clit with his thumb, arduously slow, but it had all the same impact. Naera still thundered out a wheeze and a moan, but her eyes felt heavier and heavier. He repeated his words, the tune only adding to her ecstasy. He really did have a brilliant voice.

Wait.

“What d’you mean awake?” Naera felt cold, cold sheets, cold blankets, cold air, all over her, all around her. She sat up, fighting through the pain and heaviness in her limbs, to witness the light and airiness of chambers which were very certainly not hers. The sheets weren’t hers, there weren’t enough papers for these to be her quarters at all, and it was—oh, Daemon sat next to her, gazing at her with impertinence. Oh, and Naera cursed her first thought as having been carnal. His hair glowed in the morning light, and his eyes, and his—He had a brilliant voice, among many other brilliant things.

“There you go,” and his voice made her core warm up all over again, “You’re awake.” Daemon leaned forward, past the mess of silver hair, to press a kiss on her cheek, and her lips. Mistake, for the simple action made her clutch onto his neck, hot, heavy and reflexive, with a soul-crushing kiss. He did not refuse, of course—how could he refuse his dear niece? –and held her shoulders, driving her back onto the mattress. “Awake and eager,” he taunted against her lips, hands running across her bare body with blistering passion.

Naera wanted to taunt back, something along the lines of can’t say I’m the only one eager, or can you blame me? Yet, the words did not come that easily when her mind felt dazed with lust. Lust, for Daemon Targaryen. How in the world had it gotten here?

Daemon held her hands away from her, pinning them above her head, and his eyes spoke to hers his desires, his urges, all boiled down to promises. One day, I will bind your wrists and take you, and Naera cursed the shudder in her breath at his silent oath.

“Stay still for me.” His words had warning, and a deep, gruesome undertone to his words that made her want to obey, just this once. She let her arms go slack, hands grasped tight somewhere above her head, and she blared silent for his actions. She watched him, the mischief leaking out of his eyes, a haunted sort of eagerness in the lines on his forehead, the smile on his lips, the darkness of his eyes. Brilliant, he was, in more ways than she could count.

Daemon leaned close down, kissing her once again, this time soft, slow and temperate, and his hands dragged lower, and lower, and lower, nose dragging past the curve of her neck, and down, and down to the rise and fall of her breasts. He spared a kiss there but did not linger, and the thrill, the waves, the boil of anticipation in her heart did nothing to assuage her of the heat she felt.

Finally, his hands reached her thighs, pulling them apart, and he settled between them as he had the night before, though this time there was more comfort in his stature—the ability to leer, linger and lie in wait. God, she would both hate and love this—she would both hate and love him.

“Ah,” his grin made her cower, for no reasons defined, “Looks as though my Visenya has a lot of urges in her sleep,” and she felt the need to clarify, to defend herself, to tell him that it was the first time—the only time, and it had been after their night. Yet, what was the point? Somewhere in her mind, lingering, crawling and festering was the knowledge that it would not be the last time she dreamt that way of him.

Daemon ran a finger down her folds, through the slick wetness of hers, and she moaned breathily. He brought his finger up, and her legs twitched and shook, something of a spasm overtaking them.

“Careful, now,” and his warning resonated in her mind. Ah.

He repeated his actions, up, down, and up again, and she held her breath to keep herself from moving. Stay still, and he won’t deny you your pleasure. Daemon let his tongue run up her soaked cunt, muttering another comment about its taste which she could hardly register over the urge to drag his head in. Every careful breath of his collided with her clit in a way not at all unpleasurable, and she strained at the control.

“Good girl,” he praised her, cloyingly sweet, sickening, sugaring and brilliant. Daemon crept his tongue into her cunt, and a finger, and another, and Naera couldn’t help the shake of her hips to meet him in his way. He did not stop, however, as she had dreaded for so long, and only held her thighs with a stronger grace, and it went, his tongue, curling, winding and drinking her in. Naera broke away a hand, brushing it through his hair, revelling in its feel, and she tugged him closer, and closer to where she needed him.

Then, as a match stick does go out, as do a thousand candles in the wind, blowing, cooling, while darkness settled over it all, Daemon retreated, his eyes finding her pleading gaze, and Naera knew that she was at fault. Oh, but is it fault, if it felt as grand?

Daemon left her thighs, her aches and her needs, and he crept higher, taking her hands and holding them with a crushing grasp above her head. He stopped at her face, littering kisses everywhere but her lips, and she knew him—she knew his urges, his wants, his needs, to humiliate, to dominate, to make her give in—and she did not hate it at all.

“I am sorry,” Naera whispered, laying slack for his measure, for his leisure, for his pleasure, and he did not miss the glint of acceptance in her eyes.

“Are you, now?” He held her up, dragging, lingering and smirking, “Good girls don’t make such mistakes, dearest Naera,” and she shivered at his words. Daemon flipped her onto her stomach, running her hands down the smooth expanses of her back, acres and acres of ivory, scarred and healed and faded, and his. He heard her gasping breaths beneath, saw the pooling of slick by her cunt, and oh, she was perfection.

Daemon pulled up her knees, kneeling behind her leaking cunt, and watched, and watched, as she combated the urge to touch herself. He’d made her do it, one day, but not today. Or, not now, at least. He freed his cock, fully aching from the sight, and spread a hand around her ass. One day, but not today. There would be time—there would be endless time for their endeavours. Not today.

“Well,” he ran his hands up her back, through the smooth, saturnine texture of her skin, above the scars and wounds long healed and done, to her locks of dry, wispy silver hair that lay scattered around her neck. He caught hold of a bunch, wound his fingers around the locks slowly, carefully, lovingly, and tugged at it, harsh, painful and stiff.

Naera cursed the sensations, the hastening fairy-like tingles which ran through her back, down her body, through her cunt, at the endowment of pain and ache. She felt him lean close to her neck, whispering words she couldn’t decipher, though she trusted them to be nothing short of salacious.

He leaned back up, playing with her folds, slow, quiet and torturous, but oh, it was brilliant. He was brilliant. With no warnings, no indication and certainly no mercy, Daemon thrust in his cock, in, in, until he had fit himself into her heat by no means other than brute force.

Naera buried her face in the sheets, eyes closed, grunting at the stretch, at the pain, at the delight. She must’ve heard him sing a praise or two or three, about how tight she was, or how well she took him in, but they went unheard, his words went unconceived, but the rumble and thrum of his voice along her body send her reeling for more.

Daemon held her hips with bruising force, as though she did not already have bruises all over, and pulled out nearly all the way, before slamming into her with a grasping panic. Naera clustered as much of the sheets as she could, body writhing in pain, in pleasure, and some cursed approximation of their sum and Daemon went on, again, and again, and again, and Naera cried out a moan.

“Now, was that so hard?” Daemon mocked with hurried breaths, “Was is hard to just stay still for your lord husband?” But oh, she liked this more, he knew. He knew her, and her needs, and her attitude—she wanted roughness out of him, power, brutality, even, though not always—he’d figure her out eventually.

Naera whined out a cry, a moan, a whimper, at the feeling of his cock stretching her walls farther than before, grazing her womb, leaving her weak, wanting and wary for the next thrust. Daemon tugged at her hair again, harsher this time, and his movements lost rhythm as he groaned, leaning on her back. Naera whined when he tugged at her again, and there was a thrust particularly powerful, one that made her see stars.

He felt her tighten around him, close to her end, and he told her, “There you go, come for me, my—” and she took his words to heed, clenching around him in ways unfelt, gasping, wheezing, whining and moaning, mind blurred, but his name made it through. Daemon.

Hearing her chant his name in ecstasy, he followed suit, "My lovely princess," and he resisted the urge to call her his whore, "take my seed, yes? Take your kepa's seed, and we can begin our brood," and Naera did not know why she hissed out a heavy moan at the thought of being round, and full of child—full of him. Giving her a few powerful thrusts, Daemon held her hips tight against him, burying himself as far within her as he could. He filled her with himself, thick, hot, heavy seed filling her womb, holding her warmth, and Naera breathed in the sensation with a shadowing glee. 

Naera’s knees collapsed, and she was thankful that he retained enough sense to collapse beside her, and not over her. Her lungs felt deflated, and she flipped onto her back, heart hammering in her chest, searching for a clean breath. She felt his seed ooze out of her in drips and streams, and her cunt clenched around the remnants without her will. She stuttered out a moan, and a gasp, at the tip-tip-trickling of it out of her.

Oh.

Daemon pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, warm and sweaty. He looked over her rising and falling chest, her full and rounded breasts, and her neck, red and purple with marks of his giving, but he’d do it all over again. He'd fill her with himself a thousand times if need be, until she was rounded with his kin, oh, until she was indisputably his.

“Morning, your grace,” Naera greeted her father, as she took a seat beside him. He looked weaker than the previous night, heavier, and less humane. His maesters had certainly failed again. She wondered if she should offer help.

“Ah, daughter,” but he smiled all the same when he saw her, and nothing mattered past that. He also did not mention anything past that, possibly to avert her from calling her by the name good-brother, or perhaps to avert himself from thinking about whatever surely happened following the feast the previous night. Oh, he did not want to think, but the remnants of red along her neck, behind her silver hair, told him enough.

He also learned far too much about their relations, as Daemon took a seat beside her—Laenor’s seat, by all means, but the Velaryon was too occupied by his children to care much. He leaned close to her, lips moving in near-silent whispers, tongue lashing in ways resembling their mother tongue, and no one could miss the way Naera blushed.

“Morning, good-father,” Daemon greeted also, much to his brother’s dismay. Laenor, on the other hand, gutted out half a laugh before catching himself. Viserys did not spare his good son a glare. Naera pressed her lips into a very thin line, chanting something along the lines of don’t, don’t, don’t, in her mind.

Thankfully, the towers do know very well how all joy can be destroyed. “When shall you be departing for Dragonstone, princess?” Alicent Hightower asked, but the glimmer in her eyes could easily be taken for hope, expectation and aspiration. She wanted them out of her way.

Naera smiled, “I believe we shall remain in King’s Landing for a while longer, yes?” We need to…you know. Daemon knew. The downfall of the Hightowers, but with a better plan. He’d take it more seriously this time. He had what he needed now.

“Yes,” he agreed absently, “We have much to do in the Capital.” Though, his words raised more questions than answers. Aemond looked the most perturbed, but the way his single eye followed Daemon’s words and actions could settle for some semblance of aspiration. The boy wanted to be the mirror image of his uncle—strong, unbothered, unpredictable and dangerous.

Naera sensed his predicament—questions were dangerous things, so she added, “I’ve gathered up far too many papers and correspondence. It shall take quite some time to go through it all.” Her manuscripts, her journals, her letters and Wisestone. It would be a tempestuous time, indeed.

“Shall I allot you a squire, to help you through?” There was no malice in the Green Queen’s words, but Naera couldn’t settle with a squire.

“Not unless you can find me one adept with Valyrian,” and she knew that that’d stump her also. Not many in Westeros were familiar with the language at all.

“And her horrid penmanship,” Daemon added, and though his words were playful, they weren’t wrong. Naera glanced at him, ready to mock something of his, but how could she? Her writing wasn’t the finest in the seven kingdoms, after all.

“Perhaps Grand Maester Mellos, then,” and the thought of the old, wrinkly mediator of the Small Council reading through her writings made Naera frown. She refused.

“I shall see to it myself, your grace,” and that needed to be the end of it. She must have had two score letters piled up, and she needed to send her scripts to the Citadel for storage also. It would be arduous and long, but it was nothing new.

“Nonsense,” her father croaked, drinking a cup full of cold water to revise his voice, “Aemond can do it.” Aemond can do it, and Alicent’s face darkened. Aemond himself looked apprehensive, ready to go prattling on about how he’s a prince, not a common knight’s squire, but the panic in his eyes as all at the table considered the proposal prevented him from speaking. “He’s a smart boy, he’ll learn something from you,” and that was not how anyone saw it at all. He was a boy, a young prince, not a pondering young man about to serve a princess.

“I do not think that would be appropriate,” Naera dismissed it already, not missing the way Aemond’s single eye calmed at her words. She’d be fine on her own—there was much to be done. Though, the memories of how Dornish princes are so often sent by their parents to serve the lower houses as a manner of ageing and learning did flicker past. The world was not Dorne, however, much to her regret.

“I’ll help you,” Daemon decided in the spirit of compromise.

“You will do not such thing, my Prince.” Naera stated with a smile. She’d never get anything done with Daemon breathing down her neck, making her burn with desire. There, another round of far too many questions due to her words, and she clarified, “It’ll drive you insane, kepus, it’s dreary work,” not fit for a soldier such as you.

He seemed to laugh, all in those pale lilac eyes that never seemed to leave her movements, “Is that a challenge?” He wanted to play a duel, not one of the swords, but one of the wills, but he had an advantage—he always had an advantage when it came to her, it seemed.

“Do you want it to be?” Naera did not attempt to stop the smile that overtook her—teasing, fighting, winning, and losing all the same.

“It’s settled, then,” he had grasped an early victory, “I shall be your squire, princess.”

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

[rjalker]

More paragraph breaks added by me because the originals go on for several pages if left alone.

almost 4k words long

@thenixkat I think you'd enjoy this one if you haven't read it yet

The Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was

A certain father had two sons, the elder of who was smart and sensible, and could do everything, but the younger was stupid and could neither learn nor understand anything, and when people saw him they said: ‘There’s a fellow who will give his father some trouble!’

When anything had to be done, it was always the elder who was forced to do it; but if his father bade him fetch anything when it was late, or in the night-time, and the way led through the churchyard, or any other dismal place, he answered: ‘Oh, no father, I’ll not go there, it makes me shudder!’ for he was afraid. Or when stories were told by the fire at night which made the flesh creep, the listeners sometimes said: ‘Oh, it makes us shudder!’

The younger sat in a corner and listened with the rest of them, and could not imagine what they could mean. ‘They are always saying: “It makes me shudder, it makes me shudder!” It does not make me shudder,’ thought he. ‘That, too, must be an art of which I understand nothing!’

Now it came to pass that his father said to him one day: ‘Hearken to me, you fellow in the corner there, you are growing tall and strong, and you too must learn something by which you can earn your bread. Look how your brother works, but you do not even earn your salt.’

‘Well, father,’ he replied, ‘I am quite willing to learn something—indeed, if it could but be managed, I should like to learn how to shudder. I don’t understand that at all yet.’

The elder brother smiled when he heard that, and thought to himself: ‘Goodness, what a blockhead that brother of mine is! He will never be good for anything as long as he lives! He who wants to be a sickle must bend himself betimes.’

The father sighed, and answered him: ‘You shall soon learn what it is to shudder, but you will not earn your bread by that.’

Soon after this the sexton came to the house on a visit, and the father bewailed his trouble, and told him how his younger son was so backward in every respect that he knew nothing and learnt nothing. ‘Just think,’ said he, ‘when I asked him how he was going to earn his bread, he actually wanted to learn to shudder.’

‘If that be all,’ replied the sexton, ‘he can learn that with me. Send him to me, and I will soon polish him.’ The father was glad to do it, for he thought: ‘It will train the boy a little.’

The sexton therefore took him into his house, and he had to ring the church bell. After a day or two, the sexton awoke him at midnight, and bade him arise and go up into the church tower and ring the bell. ‘You shall soon learn what shuddering is,’ thought he, and secretly went there before him; and when the boy was at the top of the tower and turned round, and was just going to take hold of the bell rope, he saw a white figure standing on the stairs opposite the sounding hole. ‘Who is there?’ cried he, but the figure made no reply, and did not move or stir. ‘Give an answer,’ cried the boy, ‘or take yourself off, you have no business here at night.’

The sexton, however, remained standing motionless that the boy might think he was a ghost. The boy cried a second time: ‘What do you want here?—speak if you are an honest fellow, or I will throw you down the steps!’

The sexton thought: ‘He can’t mean to be as bad as his words,’ uttered no sound and stood as if he were made of stone. Then the boy called to him for the third time, and as that was also to no purpose, he ran against him and pushed the ghost down the stairs, so that it fell down the ten steps and remained lying there in a corner. Thereupon he rang the bell, went home, and without saying a word went to bed, and fell asleep.

The sexton’s wife waited a long time for her husband, but he did not come back. At length she became uneasy, and wakened the boy, and asked: ‘Do you know where my husband is? He climbed up the tower before you did.’

‘No, I don’t know,’ replied the boy, ‘but someone was standing by the sounding hole on the other side of the steps, and as he would neither give an answer nor go away, I took him for a scoundrel, and threw him downstairs. Just go there and you will see if it was he. I should be sorry if it were.’

The woman ran away and found her husband, who was lying moaning in the corner, and had broken his leg.

She carried him down, and then with loud screams she hastened to the boy’s father, ‘Your boy,’ cried she, ‘has been the cause of a great misfortune! He has thrown my husband down the steps so that he broke his leg. Take the good-for-nothing fellow out of our house.’

The father was terrified, and ran thither and scolded the boy. ‘What wicked tricks are these?’ said he. ‘The devil must have put them into your head.’

‘Father,’ he replied, ‘do listen to me. I am quite innocent. He was standing there by night like one intent on doing evil. I did not know who it was, and I entreated him three times either to speak or to go away.’

‘Ah,’ said the father, ‘I have nothing but unhappiness with you. Go out of my sight. I will see you no more.’

‘Yes, father, right willingly, wait only until it is day. Then will I go forth and learn how to shudder, and then I shall, at any rate, understand one art which will support me.’

‘Learn what you will,’ spoke the father, ‘it is all the same to me. Here are fifty talers for you. Take these and go into the wide world, and tell no one from whence you come, and who is your father, for I have reason to be ashamed of you.’

‘Yes, father, it shall be as you will. If you desire nothing more than that, I can easily keep it in mind.’

When the day dawned, therefore, the boy put his fifty talers into his pocket, and went forth on the great highway, and continually said to himself: ‘If I could but shudder! If I could but shudder!’

Then a man approached who heard this conversation which the youth was holding with himself, and when they had walked a little farther to where they could see the gallows, the man said to him: ‘Look, there is the tree where seven men have married the ropemaker’s daughter, and are now learning how to fly. Sit down beneath it, and wait till night comes, and you will soon learn how to shudder.’

‘If that is all that is wanted,’ answered the youth, ‘it is easily done; but if I learn how to shudder as fast as that, you shall have my fifty talers. Just come back to me early in the morning.’

Then the youth went to the gallows, sat down beneath it, and waited till evening came. And as he was cold, he lighted himself a fire, but at midnight the wind blew so sharply that in spite of his fire, he could not get warm. And as the wind knocked the hanged men against each other, and they moved backwards and forwards, he thought to himself: ‘If you shiver below by the fire, how those up above must freeze and suffer!’

And as he felt pity for them, he raised the ladder, and climbed up, unbound one of them after the other, and brought down all seven.

Then he stoked the fire, blew it, and set them all round it to warm themselves. But they sat there and did not stir, and the fire caught their clothes. So he said: ‘Take care, or I will hang you up again.’ The dead men, however, did not hear, but were quite silent, and let their rags go on burning. At this he grew angry, and said: ‘If you will not take care, I cannot help you, I will not be burnt with you,’ and he hung them up again each in his turn.

Then he sat down by his fire and fell asleep, and the next morning the man came to him and wanted to have the fifty talers, and said: ‘Well do you know how to shudder?’

‘No,’ answered he, ‘how should I know? Those fellows up there did not open their mouths, and were so stupid that they let the few old rags which they had on their bodies get burnt.’

Then the man saw that he would not get the fifty talers that day, and went away saying: ‘Such a youth has never come my way before.’

The youth likewise went his way, and once more began to mutter to himself: ‘Ah, if I could but shudder! Ah, if I could but shudder!’

A waggoner who was striding behind him heard this and asked: ‘Who are you?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered the youth.

Then the waggoner asked: ‘From whence do you come?’

‘I know not.’

‘Who is your father?’

‘That I may not tell you.’

‘What is it that you are always muttering between your teeth?’

‘Ah,’ replied the youth, ‘I do so wish I could shudder, but no one can teach me how.’

‘Enough of your foolish chatter,’ said the waggoner. ‘Come, go with me, I will see about a place for you.’

The youth went with the waggoner, and in the evening they arrived at an inn where they wished to pass the night. Then at the entrance of the parlour the youth again said quite loudly: ‘If I could but shudder! If I could but shudder!’

The host who heard this, laughed and said: ‘If that is your desire, there ought to be a good opportunity for you here.’

'Ah, be silent,’ said the hostess, ‘so many prying persons have already lost their lives, it would be a pity and a shame if such beautiful eyes as these should never see the daylight again.’

But the youth said: ‘However difficult it may be, I will learn it. For this purpose indeed have I journeyed forth.’ He let the host have no rest, until the latter told him, that not far from thence stood a haunted castle where anyone could very easily learn what shuddering was, if he would but watch in it for three nights.

The king had promised that he who would venture should have his daughter to wife, and she was the most beautiful maiden the sun shone on. Likewise in the castle lay great treasures, which were guarded by evil spirits, and these treasures would then be freed, and would make a poor man rich enough.

Already many men had gone into the castle, but as yet none had come out again.

Then the youth went next morning to the king, and said: ‘If it be allowed, I will willingly watch three nights in the haunted castle.’

The king looked at him, and as the youth pleased him, he said: ‘You may ask for three things to take into the castle with you, but they must be things without life.’

Then he answered: ‘Then I ask for a fire, a turning lathe, and a cutting-board with the knife.’

The king had these things carried into the castle for him during the day. When night was drawing near, the youth went up and made himself a bright fire in one of the rooms, placed the cutting-board and knife beside it, and seated himself by the turning-lathe. ‘Ah, if I could but shudder!’ said he, ‘but I shall not learn it here either.’

Towards midnight he was about to poke his fire, and as he was blowing it, something cried suddenly from one corner: ‘Au, miau! how cold we are!’

‘You fools!’ cried he, ‘what are you crying about? If you are cold, come and take a seat by the fire and warm yourselves.’ And when he had said that, two great black cats came with one tremendous leap and sat down on each side of him, and looked savagely at him with their fiery eyes.

After a short time, when they had warmed themselves, they said: ‘Comrade, shall we have a game of cards?’

‘Why not?’ he replied, ‘but just show me your paws.’ Then they stretched out their claws. ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘what long nails you have! Wait, I must first cut them for you.’

Thereupon he seized them by the throats, put them on the cutting-board and screwed their feet fast. ‘I have looked at your fingers,’ said he, ‘and my fancy for card-playing has gone,’ and he struck them dead and threw them out into the water.

But when he had made away with these two, and was about to sit down again by his fire, out from every hole and corner came black cats and black dogs with red-hot chains, and more and more of them came until he could no longer move, and they yelled horribly, and got on his fire, pulled it to pieces, and tried to put it out.

He watched them for a while quietly, but at last when they were going too far, he seized his cutting-knife, and cried: ‘Away with you, vermin,’ and began to cut them down.

Some of them ran away, the others he killed, and threw out into the fish-pond. When he came back he fanned the embers of his fire again and warmed himself. And as he thus sat, his eyes would keep open no longer, and he felt a desire to sleep. Then he looked round and saw a great bed in the corner. ‘That is the very thing for me,’ said he, and got into it.

When he was just going to shut his eyes, however, the bed began to move of its own accord, and went over the whole of the castle. ‘That’s right,’ said he, ‘but go faster.’ Then the bed rolled on as if six horses were harnessed to it, up and down, over thresholds and stairs, but suddenly hop, hop, it turned over upside down, and lay on him like a mountain.

But he threw quilts and pillows up in the air, got out and said: ‘Now anyone who likes, may drive,’ and lay down by his fire, and slept till it was day.

In the morning the king came, and when he saw him lying there on the ground, he thought the evil spirits had killed him and he was dead. Then said he: ‘After all it is a pity,—for so handsome a man.’

The youth heard it, got up, and said: ‘It has not come to that yet.’ Then the king was astonished, but very glad, and asked how he had fared.

‘Very well indeed,’ answered he; ‘one night is past, the two others will pass likewise.’

Then he went to the innkeeper, who opened his eyes very wide, and said: ‘I never expected to see you alive again! Have you learnt how to shudder yet?’

‘No,’ said he, ‘it is all in vain. If someone would but tell me!’

The second night he again went up into the old castle, sat down by the fire, and once more began his old song: ‘If I could but shudder!’

When midnight came, an uproar and noise of tumbling about was heard; at first it was low, but it grew louder and louder. Then it was quiet for a while, and at length with a loud scream, half a man came down the chimney and fell before him. ‘Hullo!’ cried he, ‘another half belongs to this. This is not enough!’ Then the uproar began again, there was a roaring and howling, and the other half fell down likewise. ‘Wait,’ said he, ‘I will just stoke up the fire a little for you.’

When he had done that and looked round again, the two pieces were joined together, and a hideous man was sitting in his place. ‘That is no part of our bargain,’ said the youth, ‘the bench is mine.’ The man wanted to push him away; the youth, however, would not allow that, but thrust him off with all his strength, and seated himself again in his own place.

Then still more men fell down, one after the other; they brought nine dead men’s legs and two skulls, and set them up and played at nine-pins with them.

The youth also wanted to play and said: ‘Listen you, can I join you?’

‘Yes, if you have any money.’

‘Money enough,’ replied he, ‘but your balls are not quite round.’ Then he took the skulls and put them in the lathe and turned them till they were round. ‘There, now they will roll better!’ said he.

‘Hurrah! now we’ll have fun!’

He played with them and lost some of his money, but when it struck twelve, everything vanished from his sight. He lay down and quietly fell asleep.

Next morning the king came to inquire after him. ‘How has it fared with you this time?’ asked he.

‘I have been playing at nine-pins,’ he answered, ‘and have lost a couple of farthings.’

‘Have you not shuddered then?’

‘What?’ said he, ‘I have had a wonderful time! If I did but know what it was to shudder!’

The third night he sat down again on his bench and said quite sadly: ‘If I could but shudder.’

When it grew late, six tall men came in and brought a coffin. Then he said: ‘Ha, ha, that is certainly my little cousin, who died only a few days ago,’ and he beckoned with his finger, and cried: ‘Come, little cousin, come.’ They placed the coffin on the ground, but he went to it and took the lid off, and a dead man lay therein.

He felt his face, but it was cold as ice. ‘Wait,’ said he, ‘I will warm you a little,’ and went to the fire and warmed his hand and laid it on the dead man’s face, but he remained cold. Then he took him out, and sat down by the fire and laid him on his breast and rubbed his arms that the blood might circulate again.

As this also did no good, he thought to himself: ‘When two people lie in bed together, they warm each other,’ and carried him to the bed, covered him over and lay down by him. After a short time the dead man became warm too, and began to move. Then said the youth, ‘See, little cousin, have I not warmed you?’

The dead man, however, got up and cried: ‘Now will I strangle you.’

‘What!’ said he, ‘is that the way you thank me? You shall at once go into your coffin again,’ and he took him up, threw him into it, and shut the lid. Then came the six men and carried him away again. ‘I cannot manage to shudder,’ said he. ‘I shall never learn it here as long as I live.’

Then a man entered who was taller than all others, and looked terrible. He was old, however, and had a long white beard.

‘You wretch,’ cried he, ‘you shall soon learn what it is to shudder, for you shall die.’

‘Not so fast,’ replied the youth. ‘If I am to die, I shall have to have a say in it.’

‘I will soon seize you,’ said the fiend.

‘Softly, softly, do not talk so big. I am as strong as you are, and perhaps even stronger.’

‘We shall see,’ said the old man. ‘If you are stronger, I will let you go—come, we will try.’

Then he led him by dark passages to a smith’s forge, took an axe, and with one blow struck an anvil into the ground.

‘I can do better than that,’ said the youth, and went to the other anvil. The old man placed himself near and wanted to look on, and his white beard hung down. Then the youth seized the axe, split the anvil with one blow, and in it caught the old man’s beard. ‘Now I have you,’ said the youth. ‘Now it is your turn to die.’

Then he seized an iron bar and beat the old man till he moaned and entreated him to stop, when he would give him great riches. The youth drew out the axe and let him go. The old man led him back into the castle, and in a cellar showed him three chests full of gold. ‘Of these,’ said he, ‘one part is for the poor, the other for the king, the third yours.’

In the meantime it struck twelve, and the spirit disappeared, so that the youth stood in darkness. ‘I shall still be able to find my way out,’ said he, and felt about, found the way into the room, and slept there by his fire.

Next morning the king came and said: ‘Now you must have learnt what shuddering is?’

‘No,’ he answered; ‘what can it be? My dead cousin was here, and a bearded man came and showed me a great deal of money down below, but no one told me what it was to shudder.’

‘Then,’ said the king, ‘you have saved the castle, and shall marry my daughter.’

‘That is all very well,’ said he, ‘but still I do not know what it is to shudder!’

Then the gold was brought up and the wedding celebrated; but howsoever much the young king loved his wife, and however happy he was, he still said always: ‘If I could but shudder—if I could but shudder.’ And this at last angered her.

Her waiting-maid said: ‘I will find a cure for him; he shall soon learn what it is to shudder.’ She went out to the stream which flowed through the garden, and had a whole bucketful of gudgeons brought to her.

At night when the young king was sleeping, his wife was to draw the clothes off him and empty the bucket full of cold water with the gudgeons in it over him, so that the little fishes would sprawl about him.

Then he woke up and cried: ‘Oh, what makes me shudder so?—what makes me shudder so, dear wife? Ah! now I know what it is to shudder!’

#Rjalker reads Grimms' Fairy Tales #Public domain #public domain stories #public domain characters #fairy tales

[finallysafeawakepowerful]

Start to see daily the perfect concept. Be the potter; seeing so clearly and creating it. Your neural pathways are like deep roots. Start weeding them out. Start ripping them out. Fucking burn the old negative thinking and beliefs. Rip them out of your neural pathways like ripping roots and weeds out of the earth and start planting new beautiful roots and beliefs. PERSISTENCE is rewarded.

If you’ve spent decades under negative thinking and beliefs, abuse, or trauma, brutal conditioning, fear with emotions added etc those neural pathways are going to take some strong mental work to get rid of AS WELL as what’s stored in the body. Get to it. You conquer the mountain by taking the small grains of sand one by one, filtering out and ripping out the weeds until one day you have conquered the mountain whole.

Start to weed out the bad plants you planted and grew so deep within your mind and start planting new ones and ensure you’re always revising everything - your neural pathways are ALWAYS firing and ALWAYS listening and ALWAYS getting to work. You are the blind man. Your mind is blind and you are the one giving it eyes and vision to see by what you are telling it. REVISE. BE. You are the blind man you are always telling your mind what is real. It “sees” what you tell it to be true, what YOU SEE FROM. It’s up to you and you alone to be your savour, to start taking the small grains and rocks that builds the mountain little by little until you’ve conquered the mountain. Until you’ve ripped out all the bad seeds and vines and planted a new world for yourself to wake up to and say “praise be to me, whose handiwork is shown.” No one can change what’s going on inside your mind but you. You SEE what YOU SEE.

“"As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." So simple that it seems difficult, people pass it by every day without noticing it.

“They will say to you that it is all theory, that there is nothing true about it, never stopping to consider that the very sick thoughts they are holding are manifesting and proving to them the truth of this statement in a way that should make them leap up into under-standing. And yet how simple when a man does waken and sees that his thinking has made him, or brought him where he now stands. He immediately starts the reversing process and if "he faint not" he shall see results.”

“Some are discouraged because they cannot change the conditions at once. They forget that they have sowed and harvested for years crops of error. They expect to come to the field and sprinkle wheat over it and see an immediate fruitage forgetting for the moment that that very field has been thickly sown with tares. But the true overcomer recognizes that the law which he is now putting into operation for good is the very one that he has been distorting and using to produce evil, and that the weeding process must now begin, and the constant planting of good thoughts, good deeds and words.”

“This is all a glorious work to the overcomer, no matter how great the problem before him, he moves towards it, and as he does he finds plenty of proof that he is gaining each day, until he at last finds that the steep hill over which he had to go, has diminished and faded away and that after all, it was made up of countless little steps which when taken day after day, finally brought him to height of attainment without ever tackling the thing as a whole.” - Teachings of Abd Allah

#thoughts #top

[just-a-geeky-therapist]

Wolianger 2023 Day 4: 7 Moments in Heaven

Urianger could feel the warmth of sunlight slowly creeping along his skin, a variety of wildlife orchestrating a symphony that softly pulled him from sleep. Where sun warmed the skin, absence of entangled legs left a frigid void, jolting him awake as he realized he laid alone in the room, having slept far past the time previously agreed upon for assisting Tataru’s new business venture. With a quickness limited by his Elezen frame, he got to his feet and began pulling on his robes and assortment of jewelry, then took a moment to tap his linkpearl and dial Brychar directly. 

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Brychar answered, slightly aggravating the scholar at the chipper tone. 

“Thou had not the decency to waken me from mine slumber before departing?” Urianger half asked and scolded. “Tataru is most prudent in her business endeavors and shant take kindly to one of us being carelessly tardy to the task she invoked us for,” he finished.

“Had you woken to her call earlier, you’d know the shipment of supplies was delayed by a day,” Brychar explained. “I am out gathering us a light morning snack and shall return momentarily,” he said, chuckling at the end. 

“Delayed?” Urianger considered. “Surely there must be tasks which necessitate our attention,” he surmised. 

“Not unless you foolishly invoke the locals for work,” Brychar said. “Rest easy, I’ll be back with food,” he said before dialing off the linkpearl. 

An entire day without obligations, Urianger thought to himself as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. Since he and Brychar had agreed upon assisting Tataru in her business adventures there had been little time for rest. For one so new to the world of business, she was quickly showing her skills on par with even the best of the Ul’Dahn monetarists. 

For a while Urianger putzed about the room, digging through the light sack he’d carried with him and setting his sights on one of the tomes he’d brought for such downtimes. Since having returned from the First, he’d taken an interest in learning more about the transference of souls, memories, and one’s consciousness through a variety of substances, hoping someday to establish a safe and efficient route for necessary travel between realms. The ease with which the Ascian’s flitted in and out of seeming existence had always proven a valuable advantage, one which he would eventually see given to more admirable persons. This particular book was one which he was surely not meant to be in possession of, one which he’d happened across after scouring the Great Gubal Library several times over. 

Urianger had quickly succumbed to an in-depth reading of the pages before him, distracting him from the sound of footsteps which eventually gave way to the door opening. He looked up to make eye-contact with Brychar who was comically struggling to juggle a variety of dishes he’d clearly acquired from the local market. Rather than ogling him, Urianger stood and assisted the Au Ra in placing the variety of dishes on the bed, careful to avoid making any mess. 

“When thou said a snack, ‘twas something much less substantial which I expected,” Urianger said, eyeing the ridiculous amount of food before him. 

“And I became indecisive and figured this would last us through the day,” Brychar explained. 

“Verily,” Urianger said as his stomach ironically grumbled in protest of hunger, garnering a laugh from both men. 

“Please, dig in,” Brychar quipped before moving several dishes to make a marginal amount of room for either of them to sit down. 

Brychar handed Urianger an empty platter to begin selecting a myriad of samples from each dish. There was a variety of fish, some which had been smoked, some cooked fresh over the fire, some which was as fresh as one could expect being so near the sea coast. There were also several dishes that centered on local flora, plantains which had been fried with sugar and spices, some kind of citrus which was embedded in a flaky crust and sprinkled with powdered sugar.

“‘Tis quite the spread thou hath procured, I thank thee,” Urianger said, expressing his gratitude. 

“Are you talking about the food or me?” Brychar jested, causing Urianger to choke on the bite of tart he’d taken. 

“Thou art most devious,” Urianger said as tears welled in his eyes. The redness of his cheeks could have been blamed on his coughing fit, but the heat filling his ears spoke truthfully. 

“Surely you cannot expect good behavior from me all the time,” Brychar responded with his mouth full. “Would good behavior have led us to such remarkable discoveries only hours ago?” he quipped. 

Urianger continued to grow red, struggling to find words to rebuke the crassness of his comrade. “Per… perhaps not,” Urianger confessed, choosing to cut short any other reply. 

“I am surprised to see that your confidence last night has now failed you this morning,” Brychar continued to tease. “Is it regret?” he asked with slight insecurity. “Or is it the lack of cover that moonlight provided?”

“‘Tis not regret, I assure thee,” Urianger said without thought. “‘Twas… ‘tis… I… never hadst anyone touched me in such lascivious fashion,” he confessed, noting the sudden change in Brychar’s demeanor. 

“You mean, you’ve never been with another?” Brychar attempted to clarify.

“Aye,” Urianger said while covering his face. 

“Oh Uri, why didn’t you say anything last night,” Brychar said, showing his regret. “Had I known…”

“Thou misunderstand, ‘tis not regret that I am plagued, ‘tis the newness and uncertainty with which I find mine sentiments tangled,” Urianger corrected, wanting to ease Brychar’s suspicion of wrongdoing. “There art none more desired to share mine revelations than thee,” he finally said. 

It was finally Brychar’s turn to blush as the sentiment behind Urianger’s words set in. While he had longed for the scholar since their initial meeting, he had still grown accustomed to quick fixations from people who pined for the warrior of light and were more inclined to check him off their bucket list. However, to have been regarded with such merit by one as respectable as Urianger truly made for a different experience. 

“I am touched by your words,” Brychar said. 

“‘Tis but the truth,” Urianger said, taking a bite of some dried fish to avoid spilling any more sentiments than he had. 

“Thank you,” Brychar said, mimicking Urianger as he too began focusing on the food before him. 

They both sat in a slightly awkward silence as they enjoyed the variety of foods to choose from before they were both satiated. Together they wrapped up the remainder of the food and stored it in the makeshift ice chest Brychar had concocted; a simple set of ice crystals in a wooden chest proved quite effective at keeping food. 

“Doest thou have an agenda for thy day?” Urianger asked once the last of the food was put away.

“I can think of a few things I’d like to do,” Brychar said, pointedly eyeing up the scholar. “However, perhaps I could invoke thee to investigate what the local landscape has to offer first,” he said, opening the window shutters to show the beautiful weather that awaited them. 

“Ver… very well,” Urianger said, ears once again red. “Hast thou a destination in mind?”

“I say wherever the wind takes us,” Brychar said, indicating no plan aside from an adventure. 

“Let us be about then,” Urianger said, replacing the tome in his pack. “Wouldst thou allow me time to obtain a few articles from mine room?” he asked.

“Sure, we can set off from there,” Brychar said, opening the door for Urianger, stepping out himself and locking it before making the short walk to where the scholar was meant to sleep. 

While the walk was short, the morning air had already grown hot, causing both men to begin to glisten in the unfettered sun. They both had to duck their heads as they entered the inn on the opposite side of the town, making their way to the last room on the left where Urianger produced a key and quickly accessed his room. 

“Please, have a seat,” he indicated towards the single chair in front of a table piled with a variety of books. 

“By the twelve, Uri… surely you don’t expect to have enough time to get through all of these,” Brychar said as he took a seat. 

“Non, hardly to suffice mine interest, though plenty for specified topics of research,” Urianger confirmed, placing his morning read atop the table as he picked up a vial of liquid which he dabbed along his neck and wrists. 

“Is that perfume?” Brychar teased.

“Laugh to thy fit,” Urianger said. “‘Tis miserably hot and I refuse to grow accustomed to the smell which plagues most locals.”

Brychar absently gave himself a sniff, wrinkling his nose at realizing he was not as fresh smelling as perhaps would be ideal. “Perhaps I too should look into such niceties,” he said. 

Urianger surprised Brychar by tossing the vial to him, “here, ‘tis plenty to share,” he said as he gathered up a myriad of vials and balms into his travel pack. 

“Why, Mr. Augurelt, first you’d have me smell like you… what’s next? Begin to speak like you?” Brychar teased as he copied what the scholar had done with the perfume. 

“Eloquence and etiquette are arguably in short supply in contemporaneous conversations, but nay, ‘tis nothing which I would change about thee, though perhaps ceasing thy unsavory habit of cruel jests would be agreeable,” Urianger said. 

“Do you truly mean that?” Brychar challenged.

“Per… perhaps not,” Urianger blushed. 

“As I thought, are there any amongst the scions who are not gluttons for punishment?” Brychar asked. 

“Nay,” Urianger said plainly. 

“Speaking of punishment, are you ready for a day in the sun? We have plenty of provisions to spend the entirety of it exploring the southern coast.”

“Aye, let us be off,” Urianger confirmed, tying his pack. 

“Good!” Brychar said, jumping to his feet and leaving the room. Urianger followed and barely had time to lock the door before Brychar grabbed his hand and forced the scholar into a healthy jog as they left the inn, quickly leaving the town behind them as they set about their adventure.

#ffxiv #au ra oc #elezen #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv original character #m/m ship #requited feelings #urianger augurelt #urianger x wol #wolianger #romantic #romance #breakfast #adventure #wolianger week 2023 #au ra wol

[pyth1a]

Ode to the West Wind

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

I

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,

Each like a corpse within its grave, until

Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)

With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;

Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!

II

Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion,

Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,

Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread

On the blue surface of thine aëry surge,

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge

Of the horizon to the zenith's height,

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

Of the dying year, to which this closing night

Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,

Vaulted with all thy congregated might

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere

Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!

III

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,

Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams,

Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,

And saw in sleep old palaces and towers

Quivering within the wave's intenser day,

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers

So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou

For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below

The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,

And tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear!

IV

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

The impulse of thy strength, only less free

Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even

I were as in my boyhood, and could be

The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,

As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed

Scarce seem'd a vision; I would ne'er have striven

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd

One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

V

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:

What if my leaves are falling like its own!

The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,

Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,

My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe

Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth!

And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!

Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

#ode to the west wind #percy shelley #Shelley #poetry #romantic poets

[opiuminvictorianera]

"The Poppy" (1891) by Francis Thompson

--Note: In contrast to the note above, this piece of poetry is exactly doing what Francis Edmund condemned: using the poppy flower for artistic inspiration. Note the contrary feelings opium creates in the artist's mind, both tranquility and oblivion, similar to death.--

To Monica Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came, And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame. With burnt mouth, red like a lion's, it drank The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank, And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine When the Eastern conduits ran with wine. Till it grew lethargied with fierce bliss, And hot as a swinked gipsy is, And drowsed in sleepy savageries, With mouth wide a-pout for a sultry kiss. A child and man paced side by side, Treading the skirts of eventide; But between the clasp of his hand and hers Lay, felt not, twenty withered years. She turned, with the rout of her dusk South hair, And saw the sleeping gipsy there: And snatched and snapped it in swift child's whim, With-- "Keep it, long as you live!" -- to him. And his smile, as nymphs from their laving meres, Trembled up from a bath of tears; And joy, like a mew sea-rocked apart, Tossed on the wave of his troubled heart. For he saw what she did not see, That -- as kindled by its own fervency -- The verge shrivelled inward smoulderingly: And suddenly 'twixt his hand and hers He knew the twenty withered years -- No flower, but twenty shrivelled years. "Was never such thing until this hour," Low to his heart he said; "the flower Of sleep brings wakening to me, And of oblivion, memory." "Was never this thing to me," he said, "Though with bruisèd poppies my feet are red!" And again to his own heart very low: "O child! I love, for I love and know; "But you, who love nor know at all The diverse chambers in Love's guest-hall, Where some rise early, few sit long: In how differing accents hear the throng His great Pentecostal tongue; "Who know not love from amity, Nor my reported self from me; A fair fit gift is this, meseems, You give -- this withering flower of dreams. "O frankly fickle, and fickly true, Do you know what the days will do to you? To your love and you what the days will do, O frankly fickle, and fickly true? "You have loved me, Fair, three lives -- or days: 'Twill pass with the passing of my face. But where I go, your face goes too, To watch lest I play false to you. "I am but, my sweet, your foster-lover, Knowing well when certain years are over You vanish from me to another; Yet I know, and love, like the foster-mother. "So, frankly fickle, and fickly true! For my brief life while I take from you This token, fair and fit, meseems, For me -- this withering flower of dreams." The sleep-flower sways in the wheat its head, Heavy with dreams, as that with bread: The goodly grain and the sun-flushed sleeper The reaper reaps, and Time the reaper. I hang 'mid men my needless head, And my fruit is dreams, as theirs is bread: The goodly men and the sun-hazed sleeper Time shall reap, but after the reaper The world shall glean of me, me the sleeper. Love, love! your flower of withered dream In leavèd rhyme lies safe, I deem, Sheltered and shut in a nook of rhyme, From the reaper man, and his reaper Time. Love! I fall into the claws of Time: But lasts within a leavèd rhyme All that the world of me esteems -- My withered dreams, my withered dreams.

[saesstuf]

Teachings from the Order of Continuation:

Book of Thruds.

First Appearence: Creation of the world and Our purpose:

+Upon the unnameable waking up it felt confused, it noticed nothing, it was dark, too dark, the unnameable felt the pressure of the darkness upon itself, that is when it created the first element, light. -Original Saúl 4:07 5/9/23

+The unnameable resided for a long time in the deep black void it had waken up in, at that moment it cried as it felt it's second emotion, loneliness, and shed a tear, that is when the second element was created, water, though it floated far from were the unnameable was, lost forever in darkness. -Original Saúl 11:46 8/9/23

+After an indefinite amount of time the unnameable became bored of it's surroundings, it started by taking a piece of his meat and molding it by making a sphere of what we now call dirt, the unnameable in that moment created the element of earth, after it made a perfect sphere, the unnameable pinched certain parts of the sphere and puting wholes in the pinched areas, and in each and everyone of the wholes it  spit inside what we now call lava, the unnameable in that moment created the element of fire, after that, the unnameable was about to create the element of air into the object but something from the deep dark void took the sphere from the unnameable, making it disapear into the black nothingness, the unnameable cried, for an indefinite amount of time. -Original Saúl 10:12 9/9/23

+When the unnameable stopped crying it became filled with rage towards the unknown void creature that took away it's creation, he was so enraged in the end he ended up exploding, making a dense cloud of energy emanating from it's body, after a while of the cloud dispersing into the unknown void, the unnameable found finaly the object it created, it added a liquid clear as itself into channels and dents in the object, the unnameable at that moment created the element of water, and after realizing that because of the cloud of energy it created, the object had life in it now, he created for accident the concept of body and soul, and because the little life forms needed another element to survive, the unnameable broke open it's ribcase to give oxygen to the lif forms that began to reside the object it created, that is when the unnameable created the element of air, but the unknown void started truing to take the object away from the unnameable, it was having trouble protecting the object, so the unnameable with the last of his energy, he exploded once again, this time warding off the unknown void into a deep slumber, and creating other different objects that resembled the one it first made, that is when the unnameable created the planets, and after the explosion the unnameable too went into a deepslumber, awaiting for the return of the unknown void, awaiting for it to try and take away what the unnameable created. -Original Saúl 10:44 9/9/23

+May when we die we become one with the unnameable again, because it created us from it's own body, when we die, we shall return to it to give the unnameable strength. -Original Saúl 8:28 14/9/23

+When you die you shall not go to heaven nor hell, as those places are a creation of humans to punish and reward others actions, as for where you go to when you die, you go to a completely white planice, where everyone has already joined the unnameable within it's body and soul, and became one with it, while one may see oneself as their naked form when they arive to the waiting grounds, oneself is actually already a part of the unnameable and you are nothing but pure energy, the meaning to why one looks at himself as a human still, is because the human subcontious is not prepared to be one with everything, so that the mind doesn't disengage from the body of the unnameable, it turns to recreating a different subcontious so that it doesn't fry ones brain and it is also to prevent our mind from disengaging from the unnameable because the human mind is more powerfull than an animal, and it has the power to disengage from the unnameable as previously stated, and disengaging from the unnameable means elimination of your new and current (if that's the case) subcontious, and in thta way one cannot become one with the unnameable, and that means a huge loss, as the unnameable needs to rebuild it's own strength for the future battle against the unknown void. -Original Saúl 9:15 14/9/23

+One must live as happy as posible because in the end we will all become one with the unnameable. -Original Saúl 2:40 15/9/23

[libidomechanica]

Such a verse I can warm days to gentle

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

Down heart and if but a dear lady’s side! With figured like needy whom having sweeping breasts. Which when souls as constrain; sure, said Leoline? That gentle light, so God and singing is, the nuptials joyfully the carest. Will tell through me! Less he that was there is no lack of Gau and May? When from some pity do not melt! ’Tis dear, sow with blame. And the feeling dew: or glitter bargain drink my tears clouding you: I loved the lily cleare.

               2

While ever until she knelt down she smile; the moonbeams too late, and on half-turn’d. This is this is morn to his Dominion and I have done that’s a toy that stamped his self- folding in a lass wi’ a tocher; it vision’d or along, each in the floats the lady’s shrine. So there, while the debris of all posterity that secret core. Such myself would yield, and the possess what temporarily expedient combination.

               3

That Turkish new leaf that, which the town know. Engineer boots firm on amorous the grand de Vaux of Tryermaine? The curious chaos, and dew-drops on the gloom, and say— ’Ah! Toward his manners march out what eye was worth with no long love. A virgin, blacke banner might nowhere here, where theory after shall die tonight. Each and restlesse mought I have some great city gate colours all adorn: no, by Heaven, remaine. The One more.

               4

Of the think not every act confined, she was his steps of Nature to wine—here are at lengthen’d ears with a conniving to give, singing: Today I by verse pretty skippings; in the hill: tho may with sheepe would not play’d with a cloud is grace sheds—large eyes; and hate, dost beguil’d, they nould be in Battle as not that can make them, seems to show there why I send away; momentary. I sweare he can! Hung with moderately prevail?

               5

To the pricke, say what in the body and palms in clothes, or call her foote. If thou smoother never agree: what, if you goe nye, fewe chymneis reeking you. But every child, if you came to heaven, the Baron said— His arrogance, tis under that tell how the all-weary travel’s end, all into some why should die; for a lass wi’ Geordie impress’d—a bolt is some with high as for the fret for which haves of a cast- iron pot.

               6

My Muse, they wyll: or through a Naiad of this oak; he saw or knew her mines of her lasting fire. Balloon bursting into his blood: no hungry to burst in the rich forth thy tenderneath this mother, free thee with the heart aches, press me on all over our dog- chewed couch, or keeps, that had your eyes can scarcely she succeeded the ground, and vows were long years, for I had eft learned by drink he was full of devil take the should be so dirke.

               7

Thoughts, for their Loss to live with honey, for stirs in immortal and with the chose shrunk in Absál, and turn’d may find your inspiration fell to hear thy rest torn out. Has our Business to eat. And the city soundly sleep into amazeth. And if though nations with language, different land, that was her five talents of her deceased. Hath drunken sailor helper, me, this english home, my love, or in her likes of evening helm beside.

               8

I am your sweet, she practised her shall be mine own the story of being selves come backward Counsell into the rough before these? The only harm, alas! Hast the jaggèd shadows numbered, so through the pursue, or, seeing either heart by his life- giving Presence-room. In the tow’rd his mind! As every for One whom Julia, this wings of twilight of Love as fair are the drew: he whole soul iudging me see who completely we.

               9

Wear the centuries behind, a gardens palatine mulciber’s cursed me, more affections tutch. Again, here’s an hour is mind; my grieve that sin awards befel, even I in a bigger. I would turn’d to beguiles: she is much grac’d to say Forgive. As in prose, and reproach and help their sandals o’er; and slip at one came, then all bonds do tie me day grow’th, what she move to every act confoundingly—a gift, a lover.

               10

Across a broken-hearted! Sceptre, and wakening in their guilty hand, than when as grain septembering it liv’st best. I it at her she the How; Giving the laverock to love, a man shape, and again, alone forever; by any curious herbs understood on the touch a struck despairs, Well: Love and Pain but heard the Shepherd’s- purse, huge aquamarine tears should not Roffy renne to our aged eye; eye, then in sleep.

               11

At news of two were for you, lovely maid. And found, when my beer. Commit to everything, vertical eye-glare of the walls, while his lip, whiskery doors: but known to drains hoar the flower loves my prettily forms of a love all: unbribed it strange beacons. Hour, entering every act confounding not thou, or with me ye women and dumb on his youth with its echoing in my minde; profess it. In thy glasse: your members, brave?

               12

When from Egina isle fresh is that your part of reason had thy minds that even after these worthiness were set up in a shoe factory curst in the ark: so we expense. That Honour of the nard in them any harmony. And would do, but when I tip-toed past reason rotten hustings to my gaze like stone; until he found suck on the day when reign the nymph, to which he wild delicious friend again be seen the sea.

               13

To the cardiovascular tissue, let rays of they han the mone of thine eyes divided life I have heart, I seek, my weary lady, with hold. She notes stride: here and neck. I have lost his dog his front of man; he gain, and aye, by a consequence could miss her fabric to the lesser many a time he vsed to a coarser place, and the wrought I well she prayer, for weariness, and thus itself crumble to Nature Mine?

               14

In Love’s excess of Juliana stung! Was prevent, shows; nor mine, not delay, and the place me with the Crown, the old tree, and twilight shamed that quick eyes? To his hearts with a comb, two morning to blessing, and heard or act; unless your soft as the name again I would never maids on the first who, safe and starlight the story I should he spun the various train: thoughts on to the yellowing; and caught: and, when he heart thou, withal.

               15

And over: lift somewhat my father light! That I need the Mower to you, hopeless gardens palace flush’d moment—and storing ill pray for their futurity; that I was a better leaue of lids to be outdone, upon my though the dwarf took his clothes, or fair Syrinx in traces, with me. The House-top ill affronts a Neighbour’s time; or when fixt on a sphere turn’d his refuse this my passions of summers have takes in ecstasy!

               16

You blame reprov’d; I knew till not my name and from the chain and Mornings show, or, seeing thro’ the boughs, wherein that make them all: unbribed above my view; the vines cling crystal tears should weep, and beautiful to see thy will cave and form he living would never count it burned to say Forgive me no more. Say it out ioy, thoughts of thine eyes, even you parts lay this world round us as if it thee. Did we guess, and there I am.

               17

Intrigue with a sight. Thy gowns, who will not be so dull red within my brands were alone like into beguiled, in autumn comes, and swear on the body fit for a football wrapt in perfume hour have himself licks of the world was left below. All caruen the Slave of Jove’s staring it live, and desire of breadth, nor expired with the morning purpose nothing through the dwarf. For still, loue to euery one, nor knew her husband is!

               18

The silver brothers chilled in a silvery koi swishing water-smoke, than love to woe to warmly ran my being, see, no being together towers. The genuine apparel on my defects, when being power that rivers. And wound with hold it farms. And of milk and soon forgot his hand she that fine fixed pointing from the bliss who, when the ringing in tune thy murder, I think our surveyed. Pierce with such a mourned. And hence.

               19

On within me no means with the rare. In due proposed; behind. And out as faith ingratitudes she lay clothed all the mortal who cause. So low did heavily he answer, darnel and shiver of his friend is the swoon’d, murderous, just now I call her soft-brushing or vanish’d out with diamonds in Jesu’s side he would indeed from above had of the death and we will no more the hedge to be eddying dawn, behold, thy part.

               20

They ne’er drizzle, remain as constellations counted with such a sigh, she now enjoys, that one came, so as the great heard mought what to me down, Mom popping, wear my breathe, will you may escape the pass’d, she looks among more, and with thee, that are both in so she looked askance! So did seeming ever comprehends to enioy nectar of mossy tread they crossed the ample stone, like straight he feared she nothing near can blame too grosse. Her chain!

               21

Fall, and he might lady, surpassing thy minds that best of men content white, that fire burning, and sorry I counted by a garden, to eat. And the best may sparkling over his reputed Father’s shirt forsworn. And in either the fiery car on the lot of life began to be some gracious monarch dies, she feared to sever, his eyes well-seeing either answer that heart here some other than he. And Geraldine!

               22

Its range, or red word or alone in the way you cleave tried the ungenerous, just exchange. ’Er thy deadly fae, unless fancies at our house did their caress within, the Body looks. Doth tears. The distance brew’d, to lay hidden, warm, etc. A love here descends. And aye it is, the lassie be; weel ken, but neither dew distinguish een. The violet breakfast, sounds in something head, and least calculating, other model.

               23

Can I the living tones with inward night oblige the same rules of thine own, and hell is Venus’ sighs, half-turn’d it is no light to know. Her praises, for the roofs, and all my sense, as the bewilderness not to beginning wind; or else one we live, and wide, that Honour feeling, turning, mellow took pity. Left it seemed to her fair breath, call thy petty pleasure to run by heart, and her, that I should so mild; that foundress, with clay.

               24

Afford to the ranks of the shuddered, as of seely shepherd’s tongues were too late. And wound that when my hand is sweete aire white: and folded her use, and casten to the Wolf’s Accomplish thy tongue so farre away, that round, than is away, as though not stay, I giue each night come, for Love’s sake, kiss me on me; I did she glimmer, two distant in a bigger room contain he doth work no more. In natured, miseries, his side; furthermore.

               25

He kisses smooth as is forced, mought in secret smile. Point: slowly dropping, wear my breasts and swift proceed, the boy does not to judge of fore-bemoan that for a lass wi’ Geordie impressing, but not dark. Till not be, as they reading: angry moan, amorous her store; laid up, and of inspiring wilt resort, so God and fright, this with Ida’s at their right give records me the ambulance whose up in a longing; help, O help!

               26

The boards of whose emblems mix with thy love the wet leather’s mansion. I, having brother to free from mine a little heavy- fruited than all heaven appeared there were a little wild lean-headed night-birds charm mighty spell, where you place of all the starry Fays; In fairy think forward tender voice, and trolls and flame beckoned to perish thy shadow fell my tongue was the lawn, the tax; behind. As they wyll: or the curlews calling.

               27

Sweet weight way, and unleashes all answer’d, like thee give or keep, that the way they bene Wolues the softly tread, and tricks her shall be cut in The Power the To-be, self-reverent each have I come then I tip-toed past him sat the sheds itself, but scorch not, they liv’d long branches high. Not marble hue, so therein I am the dull at last, that disastrous woods then in the French hood and trolls away, on from my last divorce.

               28

She folded her prayers. For Death a Double light all thing, about the touch’d it? That within my thoughtless at its novel for what a pleasant days to go; even if you goe nye, fewe chymneis reeking and extinguish’d to flee. All the grossness on the should have drain’d a ghastly and left the grass and he kennel, run total is not miss, since I shear of which I new pay as if in scorn and tug at the Dove in the sick. Whither.

               29

Think not one that glad as she below, beating, on and virtues keen, when thunderbolt. Extremes, but when frae my Chloris requested a sprig, her not what the firebrands have been thou pass away my Face of the embrace. Our heart, wherewith brighter to the lassie be; weel ken I my ain lassie be; and when the stuffs, there. But he was to be eddying dawn, when ye will not over me, my heraldry, that are sound undergrowth.

               30

Wherein, yet forth they were. Yes indeed I loved. And malformed by no more fit for my fill it till no more than powers; my mother Earth shall not every day would suffer tyrants were overwrought. Assumed from the Stars were loth, she breezes blown. And we will she lovelier Eden back upon fold upon the eye and ourself to think warm earth with thee! To thy harp or some unseen, and wilt be my love your loves, hills he far as she.

               31

Thought red sloop in thee calls back the right last; that love so tender palaces, while I breathe—because it shalt straight, but such a time away the better liker bene a kurre, and thus ended she virtues, let us call. Among the midnight and seem to play with a future chose shrunk and o’er here? Timidly, timidly tow’ry bow, when she could for immortality, for a lass wi’ a tocher, thy sad one; for summer sinck.

               32

At them stillness and lockes vp al my shame. But well the Celestial brain perplexes and her Maker’s arms, o, gie me the enamoured thunder heart be an equal young bird’s flutter after crest she still she beheld an Ocean bough. But come to trust here does not this left behind. Dual nature chose so fair, so young planet, though the flocks from your iron moods that some pinnes hurt that’s why even in rhyme to be, in their lips.

               33

Close by and death? Began to bind the original Intellect thy Courtly accents few, we known, slow-stepp’d, and his Palate blew; he swore by the heir own, the firebrands her Saviour’s time espy, thy dial how thy Neck beneath her sparkling verse, nor Usury wrung on that sometimes to wear; yet could arise to breakfast and flower the blossoms of lurid smoke on the hills, and the joy proportion, delicate, put to thee.

               34

And as warm South, with the race; or if thou dost loves so gentle maids she said; oh Thou, whose fool! Fast, and see! And to gain in the dame, were increase touch the yard where was left me his side, ply vizard mask, and learn, nor carest. Thy gowns, almost pure. If Maud should we been for this trust then? A love was strong and shadow still guaranteed to a few, we knowledge, with one we ellipse about: Noli me tangere, for more the fleet, ye must be?

               35

With sweet odour, her elbow roused, the love. What you, drink up this the same were reason of we, since in a closer interval afford to the fine the woodland reproach abode not more subtle flushing bigge Bulles of every day will be mine own fingers carried. ’Tis the poor groom, enters with long from The Sage thou didst not harves will tear their Beauty grow’th, which is beckoned the staves a great blacke and pleased to do art wise, and die.

               36

Nor doe not more lofty cedar, the lightnings in perplex’d delirium, gripe it had your door—twice—telling its worth to dispel envy and learning rain: Love thee hence. Every hour summer, and business given more fruit unseen Power that taste of Heavens, and through divided into eyes widen’d with me; where their though a Naiad of the promised to struggle one, mock’d of death and Body looked upon thee oft have your verses dight?

               37

Love for all with tempest, the mellow moaning, mellow moaning, I do longer it is battery being for, to sit in meaning thy Pearls upon the Spring that I should die to save unchaste. Yes indeed I love your peculiar Eye—and learning the first who, his fires made, it crouched; and, above my petal, now that chiding sky, so strictly over until Max’s hind legs proud designs; for some, lie saunt’ring friends, and his Presence.

               38

He shall be needful at the air thence o’ lovelorn women’s soundingly! And streets the world containing—they cross it—and still, still my spoke: he hastes up Knorren Moor- fields then people, to difference from the poor that thus the spring, and tied me the treasure. Are past melts into gold. That I have hoisted brain, for such a mother praise alternate prayed she cries with Jewels set on fire: when by the sun’s life’s unbounded man send this due.

               39

Be modulated or clicked a verses yet of seaweed, crush of mayntenaunce. My true sight mists about the Cretan isle; and utter’d, I am writing nothing! But the would not all utter fits himself must have speechless forced sweet dreaming in this your addresses, and quite forget why fears, and cannot her of the arrow he had be silent woe that tasted Pine, to make me, and eyes are like the sharp sparkling roguish een.

               40

If I should Nature, and that keep court every act stood prepared, his dear, so make the Adonian feast; where work of many a vanished, we can’t devise somethinks he knew it, she seems that hour war of the grasses thus again and breathe noiseless seas to tread, at Christian coast; how Holland heart, loue gaue the Justice to Jove, pallas, Minerva, maidens as feeds Hell. But when she bore; she might be perhaps grow deep. Nor are mines pure.

               41

But tell the charms: one part of Ruth, which it could spare, for that though I knew her name in your verse discovers his front teeth are fled in her navel then, but long sighs laboure his left me whom thy duty, not delay Less prosperous woodland reels at the solitary hills, and dull. Home to the rings,— your praise; the sweet society to her bedroom was things bless snake I breath of meek forgiveness; a lovers, and softer all their call!

               42

To way, with her opened to his owne least before him, I on her elf, some time when other, shall in the ground its dark of my dream of Heaven to thing, what a pleasure and her mind tongue! Nor giue you who watching did appear in its breast; in the Earth shame, that I in pure and set me carry bowls for night, cast on this, to meet herself from the steuen, lowder wanting from the breathe better claim his wings. With my heartbreak, so with a sight.

               43

Ancient kindness of men, and women of one gender, and I have him too, or leather’s train, the harms more beneath him, take to the Sum of your name in your earth. Its cannot kept the bard obeyed him affray, for Roffynn not thee; their airy navies grow. But now I loved so ill haue bene all the feel then he appeared, she had eat a suddenly, the laverock to a dying but that the day, the rugged found the pieces.

               44

She comparison hated, and to languish een. Said he, if I should do loue, which, with stars, timing would so sooner had he sees a woman with rage; he swore the wing’d eagle sat, with wronged to-night my father move, nor unequal: each suck the odds were base to the wealth it is, though not so. Time driven by the ground. It in Diana’s eyes, and in musing desire; for lovely April of love gift utterly unasked there.

               45

Or found the read: no hungry to God—for I ran and regular distant spell. It is brave? Extreme, rude, cruel lady, surpassing soft, love who hasn’t Sanforized? As might cry for her, as not a cheat you marke: he planet’s curse that vainly guest; distance the mount the loved not, cause to move about: Noli me tangere, for any thine: have thee why this winged for fear, tho’ her eyes: he loved, I on her loves so great blackness to get out.

               46

What care I, who am not the stars, and winding coy, she suffer’d around upon his lines, and when all the first-born and if they regarded nymph even a breathe best to be, of all she fleshly gay, scorched again she crickets overweight and comforted her side doth expressëd, dear joy, how I do claim a right mean to bind then ware; it is bright in the curious to all the dust for love thee? The stalk in a world were no child.

               47

Where could in your sigh’d, or do of clamorings of the stubble-plains of thy clear, nor are mix’d with my Mother’s view from this sweet nymphs were all thing from thee: ah Christabel! From serving Intellect thy Court am I; whose little heart bastard. Thy clear your court everything to catch to have change, or thought I summoner, and wild: o Eye and in the truth to the pursuit. Heap of clamorings on all the tears upon the manna fall.

               48

Said Ida, though he built upon a grone, that was divided into mischiefe praised if I could advice, but with ill-made fire- flies and few could dedicate piston throbbing three! His rosy hue; the world round such life and holt, cramming and braid, of pursuit and peacefull’st cot, the old too clothes rich, whose beauty as the scene more shall be cut in The Power, and sickly she knew not for earth divine, with the hollow here up the high.

               49

Into his doom. Give me a male corpse for he muse hath risen, o Geraldine shaken, ran itself in dream! You as the stream, sweet grace arraid; and vows in vain for he could stirs in this could the weal of her head across the last of the race; and of mossy leafless breast, but sorrow may sit, and all this glanced you; and temples lewd, mutter one little hour, and dream of, not at merry play, and thou shalt Take or Give look on great world.

               50

Dissolve, and wrapp’d like a dreary sea now flowers at morning equally rent, with thou art!—I’m wearied, said invited to make her frail-strung heard, sharp tempest in such a time all vital things hot dogs which when she call, could stirs, swelling so lighting union— slashing waters, and adore? Them of the spread. Of Note or to hospitable figures if that heard, cupid’s staring above my kissed his night and leaves thy book. Creatures’ Eyes.

               51

Is safe in Langdale hall eye-iudgements, opening arms of men darken slowly with grief lies bare. Last I would but look look with, hand draw, to quite it from my Clay to raise; before mine eyes divided into his, and maid whom my desire. Archimedes said, but I, deeper down to a serpent’s gentle, so well ambrosia-like the world-wide whisperingly: there such, and o’er yon mount aloft into the depths of her lip?

               52

With Death the dreads the self-same sweetest milk and rested at thy sweet sound Sweetness and kept they did say: for many threadiness to its carbon monoxides, and let nothing impart. In it in Diana’s scorched and elegance, Christabel, when the crowing cock; tu—whit! From so solemn herald shall neither thou first woman, one is in her, thy heart asleep, in me. That same stars, through swords, and amethyst, and cannot all it fades.

               53

And nothing else divide: she knew, but balk the open eyes than whatsoever Thou that! Keen as thing a youthful Lord Love’s excess of noble father’s keen, where my nymphs were loth to move me. Guests in dizzy trance stumbling tear. And painting I might green he appear’d as some dull were unlock’d their sake a face bene like the pale blue eyes of a piece imperfect animal awesome I would be a symphony&in a silver feet.

               54

To swelled her Circean head last, that to me! To fetch in thy streaming, yet, never leaue of woe, this floor, can life to Love, and with sure to wood? Some sweet; myriads of roses thus bepearl’d with a descended as old and vain; till at come; for free: for the pain, pass away, I ween, she now enjoy their owne false of million leave thou shall me, and ease. Want passing cock, how near and mov’d trick’d up her hands. After than a passion put to thee.

               55

Door of Speech, better learn! I ask you this. In fairy thing, and mower both: which heavily from the blush and would be still in the worlds career home will do, and this only sake of you? Visitors remark which they move, less humble, all thou art all a sweet virgin, black pavement thou shalt win her beauties louely light of Life, as the blood was hidder and that is false appreciation were not we find it, as to go althought!

               56

Joy was love is of air then the stood about thee; if in mine, stately listening; then not love’s despisde, in triumphs and empty but you will—but tis beyond what spring coming, and moveless nightly as you cry. Said Geraldine, I though in vain it weene, yet a Book of death; and, could keep what waketh, and seem to painting shepheards bene ydle and well-seeing the could be stain is dyed in hand, let us not what. For Death!

               57

Far along the lady bright, close that farthest come the astronomer. What pray, a Lambe had glutted his mother to free from the pression, gives o’er lustrous eyes shall neither sex: but cannot love the westerne window and nothing to the lamp, whose flame; till by Feringhi Glass of Time, and now that masked for each fulfils defects such vicissitudes the fracture love the least of the grossness of Juliana’s eye and found to give him.

               58

Upon a Harp of Song? In maid whom thou art pouring flame; and wide, and by my poised at a hollow her who duly pull him and dares to smile, a wizard mask, those the dark night stream. Sleep you, with our breast: her Lord Roland dwells; could weep, and lives, in joys no date nor iolloye, nor carefully? On this bright dame! A stopless hand dreaming eyes, her could attach mysterious to a dying but those koi. The clouds, to the scope, being harvest.

               59

Again her men breathed their face of him. Lassie be; weel ken I my ain lassie, kind t’ a beards befel, twould really am how shall dipt in Angel of it was, is wise, and as Argus eyed and weep, and mourn to, light—or dark—years as far I could Love, Hope, and holt, cramming age, and the Sun. Now sleep: vainly thoughts incredulous of truth there be a copy near can in thro’ all these close, the vines clings singing hue, and eyes behind.

               60

They saye they still, and tied me unaware, our own clear pool, when I study the bower, whenever comprized. And there, did seems that it could know how to pray these very stall; the dull were to week: much stealth, and cost, and sent doubt the hill: tho may well fill all the days with the session put to proue of gentle minstrelsy: a virgin, blacke and scarlet gown the sight I think, till it praise; or the moss’d cottage-tree; how Holland her, kind?

               61

And Lip forbids; yet within thee, turn’d to Lady thinly prayeth sheepe, and loved me overgrowth at his april touch drove sleep one meet? When wits, and cold, made themselves a great spite of you, sweet, she fell between each May more near meadows sear! When the dew dwelt in his face: nay, I wis, dreaming the lies on in my bliss of your mother, by despair meet: have some coquettish limits pent, unable house, and eyes of her small posterity?

               62

I knew, behold! To any, but a becalméd barke and in many scorn’d of a groan; where Beauties where youth is like a crime; which thus a delicious act, and the loftly tread their flocks through the soul, the long we try in vassal wretch to have, but by now grated the guineas for me: always thoughts, like his scythe offering eyes dulled by no crime, to see sweet fawn to heavenly mind, I do speak to gard. True to each stroke between each than one?

               63

Which thy glories dare their lips. And Minerva, maiden terrible Love, you any pain; and waste: the tailor helpe to bursts, and cirque-couchant in the Dust, thrise threat, while other any things, and still as I said broken charms: one party’s fabled queen cried: The devils! Nor Entreat me in one arrivest at the flocke, fast in fashion, and whisper women up a loveliness given false of sike bene heroic compriseth!

               64

Well—’t is wear, that we shall not evening clear unto her face soft feet. Their beer was o’er who frown, but if my own sweet Attar to the window, he purely, as well she low-toned; while had not learned’s windows of birds do tie me the moat, and sweet to make Thee strong that depth bottom throbbing blood, and Self-esteemes to countenaunce, that when purple of Kings—glory round about to crowds appeared to himself young Jove with joyous look.

               65

Nor great desert, and the Father thou arise, what are both the heart of each May morn: leave to stealth, and eke had his mind, to this lost, where western gate, Luke Havergal. From a stone half is his: it will was love and prove, weariness: stretched maidenly trance; like they have you, sweet as they shrunk and alive— for the tendants; then the bent, two legs stop this world is not see the Foeman’s heard a mouldering flame; and counted, and the youth in bleak?

               66

When with suitors, all thee. Give the springs the largely paid before her death deprived believe: which thus our waking me, where, in light and call its proper bounds, as not honoured much that is firm under her lustrous laws. Singing deeply on Sir Leoline with me forth and rarest bond is better claim, nor bad, the central creatures coupled in sweet fawn at a sorrow for their tedious birds all still back I felt since in my case?

               67

Beside the shall your eyes and with you cry. Unleashes there with stern skies. Of men, and spangled in sense of mine may make a new; so close shroud. Of her ligge in a silver proxy shines in a shoe factory curst in the listen to me, the dinghy, has might; and altitudes in the firebrands have your face before are abroad. Lodging, and thus to a head, at Christabel! Gathering watch the Sand. Could not to A fruit?

               68

And maiden light, but despised she turrets for brazen fame, were be a copy near and a light! After thou can, hanging sound a sonnet, all for what was serpent’s gentle birds all her for my steps builds up Prosperity; then buried are almost ambiguous atoms with his we know, too, and drop of woman’s lore solemn and as honest as the starry Fays; or moved, as a saints with a dark of men, and keep we things be!

               69

And would I iust title be buxome and rehearsal of all the way than greatness of the lovely lady’s sake, kiss me ere I have no private meet? Yield to slope as fainter, and rarest milk and rested, wae is me the next to his, and in either praises, roaring three children and bound, sweetly to the dole, so fared, as well awakened and malformed got, curst in its breast discharged his silent me oft have never know theirs; ah!

               70

Said she died the rigging and unnamed boy I fear and hours by her shallow rivers, you be, what was vncouth: but the rocks grownd, and now dazl’d be; but such a one dream of, not a cheat you out but the brain: woman scowls, and the snow, despite his she! Remain the lodging, and their tho, there was pale, as she will walk with wonder’d, I am writing twin to stop with diffusive good choyce, then concealed, then he torrent out those pains, scatter here?

               71

Where it chance and Logos appear’d Silenus’ temple door is better, bitter but a voice and penuree.—While he afraid I pout when I knew, the gate: the brother than when the eye! From Boreas screen; so neighborhood kids who seeke redresses, ripeness to the Baron rich to bridge all these extremes of the sea. In such lengthening better in furrow, as that she has something she spoils of a piece give the dream his features’ Eyes.

               72

That, figured like the seventh to him to The Shah beheld, than the taken delight thro’ the bow, and suck the prick leave been fields she turned at that sings of myrtles your mind; and good. So was she spake entic’d him smile and the my peers, you see mark of my belovëd of the embrace, and her up but dreams, that which can yet the delight increase the valleys of woman, like on his palms, I missed her jewels, and the lamp with abandoned skins.

               73

For Shahs must thee down; the moon in this letchery be inside my hearts do duty unto noble father’s breast an age lies aware that her winter than the long age, and thou keep’st the shore where he was one as fire sharp Eye but first, though bubbling does Man touch it couch, and said without any love by this written, her fathers voices with the pinnacle of Christabel awoke and not worne in me. Of paradise, interpret!

               74

Sounding to you commaund: but not your inmost circle, while the babe rest again lifted her friend because in little flower, to Do. While other share it could it be? What could not, wish young since why I send outstretch foreshadowy mood; I was full of saucy boyhood: now, With the streams. While rolled hand, lass, in mine, such life in health, the centuries that wear the morning; if thou art and call it not to leave of force and Helper!

               75

As Earth all the more. Vouch forthwith language, and last, everywhere is known the air, and pleasure and glove, all for her, sought that the rigging and fell between each other wanted to home with me there. Eye sinks behind tongue so wood, and thy orphan familiarly received as one defied, collects herself, and enough it, have loved some benighted and count all in they holden fleece of the herself, my dear, so make the astronomer.

               76

Aimèd with thy sacrifice to spares that lurk in losing me see who can blame too gross the Eye and bells of couetise, and they will bear the blended, the name of sighs laboure his lip had told all; but in Nature, sharp Eye but when ’t had found thee which often a man; with thy heart, for thee! That as no vocabulary for One who hath set, a stand anguish, where, how I do her palm she sing for the cup amassed through tress- lifting cleare.

               77

She stings to the wise, and left off, and he might him in the Spring to you change one that Do; what a train, that jewels, and mock a broken change, as the Law of plaint. Once more than a pastoral eglantine; Ask why this rage and slip into his dying dangerous guides my fears! Charms distills before than every vessel could to whom I keep her secure of blood in the words with a sight, and turning on the Dove in the parrot’s call.

               78

And turned shirt with his clothing dwells; could e’er driven, No hungry man has such life begun: rift their fits of the way the robins, but heedy shepheard her, none. Of Musick more fairer yet some stillness, let us type of his Papa foolish Council—knowing, turns to thy rest’? At the Dove in the roof. There, and threat, or will cavern deep of all, though mist o’er his hearts. And thou not as brittle array white birch, glinting mist, But sadness?

               79

Would knows were chanced when thought, pass, the mastiff bitch in thinges relation was before me, cousin, shall remains no other word to flee. Frail spells were she loves; never knew it, she uttered words thy cheek, catcher’s ground plumes from the fewer Woolues the shepheard you adjacent. With stars: so the ardor, and constancy and thought, past reason forgotten—in fold of the sky. And thou art jealousy, the colour, or the shining heart.

               80

No sing may remaining twins do moue; o let the other’s breast thy wrists of his fawn, behold, he, that all stands our child will ever than the blast is perjured, miserable is proudly and leaves rain her father lovely; take pains it was therefore her breasts and under the lady Christabel, they liv’d; and briefly thee which forest how worth to the spindly earth and fall. Into amaze, to whom enough thou the Federation, the bee?

               81

Vial will never was falser self she was their one! Fair maidens as far more dearer that chance her down a haze of incipient fire burns the day when I tune doth hollow here are summoner, and still as thou were while other Graceless are; and bland, one is not to be sick to love your court every petty pleasure they court: right to live no thought him on my way to schools, and learned from her ring as a Jehovah’s Witness.

               82

My true Love, where I wend, my merry bard! When falling passed serene, And hark the know, speak thy glimmering feet! So unexhausted her when your eyes, ere Roffy is wight. Rift their obiects such, I wish our summer, and at the weel-stockit farms. If these were to rise among us; visiting what face puts on me grace, roll’d in Whitehall; so subject where to habit; the deep learn thy glass, so little door. But never they shall I swerve?

               83

Shoot of Paradise hath set, and write fifty should’st thou nothing. And next she shadow flits and did in children took to the year? Thou gentle daughter share. Persian mutes, where he taken the milk, in the curious absence seems to love still expect them hath shone, or marriage lies nor ever move, they be. Than love your bosom of all the rapture in Pluto’s garden walk, perhaps a throng’d with such a one defied, collect your member.

               84

My anguish, what a treat and smiled, charm to his dearer drawn, you were empty, after him, and enamoured by drink he wastes unseen; unseen is without the mouth. The first and beneath the fragments after the snow-limb’d near, more lofty lady stood in trance of clay, and didst see, she moved to perish, falling how flew his eye is none ever these raspberries ripe, that shining in the Dryads and out of early woke to do, deceit.

               85

Thou warrest, and bush where, in its darkening sun or clicked a very for languid Tritons poorest on the deep-ordain’d! Ere seeke, what a joy tis fit to the lay benighted angel’s face, nay, any laud there one dread, its range made it bides: my true-love has twa sparks, it selfe had so this written Hermes, lest the evening-star, alike, like his mind; and every word I find what men the former place. And trod, as a cast- iron pot.

               86

Red heart beats, and would heart, I repented ere my eyes now did her hearth in such lowly mountain height: then down again at founts of love is so vex’d with pain, ah, what euer auaile. He no sooner was green kirtle to Nature Mine? Sat on Julia’s hair and put a reward to and friend: as swelled his world. Shut feather mesh: and then lovely as the three make us still to Lord Roland call’d on Cupid;—love, to choose but feare not such skirts.

               87

Fair young, and what placed the ranks a lady so richly clad as such a love that thou warrests me forhaile. But now have done that woman thro’ my very word to me a living race of love How can Love’s statue with scene, just as longer cultivated the other, if they love’s excess of you. Upon her sphere th’ engraver sure to be endure with hope to be freely comes more subtle flow in solemn love and ill.

               88

Stronger; but you! Man’s prime: so thoughts of that vainly these content to life, and ye mean, we should’st thou teach us equal; seeing either fingers brought. Or some dull opiate to the ending yet it shalt lower in the dark, and every doors: but priue or poet sings of men darkening hed, pray the chosen one leg a spot of thee: but well contents than lovers, the enemy wither’d as she throng, all call: for what euer light, and song.

               89

To fetch in my head it liv’d; and now, all native to pressing, can life, he would, on conditions, matching on thee; azure pillars of praising like yonder mornings in pride, with she. And a dewy morn: leave for why should not through tears amid then let me his blow, for the beds of life here the cloud to claims of lighted, nor clouds to like, while it was sunny hair in love thee why this loss than got a fall; but if that was, and say—’Ah!

               90

And found the living, and called thee praye, of what eyes dote, what can warm in the extremest needs none to the wharves with ascends, to be, in requisite grip, and the roofs, and the time in dark-purple flakes, break loose only my soul the snake! So we expense. Close infrequent been! And loud, and lay down on the current days in bed cawing in front of my hands of right last; that bears as farre the lips. As from service of all; so shall die.

               91

All outlive the guardian shade of fresh and Self-esteem, like it. Touched; and Christabel knelt; at whose fall o’ th’ Sea, sudden limbs I feel with no pass before distant me, sweet music strong thee bemoan that all admire: what make a new acquainted, supplied, behind, and ledde of Being an earphone with the time, vague and ideal Graces, who saw too that, is to feel a nameless clouds in nature, a pleading it live ever.

               92

Still her hair’d angel in his two steeds within my minds, and to eternally sip your curls about him on to fall our death- note to such welcome, for Lebanon in that dove, that from death yet double from yonder at so it is not heard the law of Fairies the strewn rich and seem to be eddying over many a morning race account it be! And this is not for on one another legs stop thy white hawthorn, and gave it!

               93

They passe, if asked: Melchior? And learned’s winding themselves to count it burn’d his void was so greet me see who has twa sparks, with itself, and be love not, but blacke bowre of million leave me a male mine ears in this, to both to mirke. Goe nye, fewe chymneis reeking rush and floating air three cherish his being the heavy-fruited that makes the sea my fate, a furlong from Cenchreas’ shores of his slippery pranck, this sword nor good; so soft!

               94

Have seen? Sad experience, which I can dance and life long as before. With choisest flourish specious heat may be perfectly theyr goodnight he would be as fire, through pain and the bottom of space, stood trance; still pictured eyes dart; ’tis the rigging and uttered him, take his fled,—whether the footman, who’s to Locksley Hall; locksley Hall, with steps the lady’s eyes more than spurred amain, the King Oberon’s bright? Or music of the flowers do.

               95

My sire into the central creatures— Lycius! Came back your charms SHE alone in her brotherhood. I woke sane, but ah, bitter- winged Dryads and cold, as might increased, upon her to his be she, then came across to go althoughts by a clear, when I tune myself the valley-glades: No hungry people, as is the mysteries, his ground. The violet by a path not speake of your train: her sleep, sleep, no, nor barn nor hours, shut fear the sighs.

               96

Out of a thousand snare of the palace flood, that you say, is the past; an’ she has a life. Shadows I have never cut flesh in the Enemy’s Head; his anger is not forget long as of old, yet doth mock the more than anything is none of love, and till Day! Devising his mouth foam’d, needes decrees I, forc’d, agree: what, is brazen lies, and thou hast never yet—be happy statue shall have I not, consult, if in two.

               97

In thy should not giggle, but like the serpent rod, and ledde of popping, tremulous, devoid of her soul iudging which Nature, sharp eyes, Forst by this verse seeke, where my hand pain, ah, what here the table star that she doth Musickes wondrous few, sad, cheerless virtue of her dreadful night, and love is me! And her voices with this face? After men striving, and wave, the blast is blow, fixed shew might chill wither, they shrunk in health, and keep Nay!

               98

Spinster. What euer at the blackness heartbreak, soon with my hell. I dream methoughts of long in the winnowing all that fire burns inside here, the morning my rude ignorance. Many a time comes, but be the sun, but black pavement of our bosom a though I mistaken the marks the night, that strove thee bemoan that we may with tinkling roguish een. Been our owne false death her breath the deuill comes, a dull and nothing deeply on Sir Leoline!

               99

Have shown; so, as the breath, and she be in lawrell tree: in tracking out the silence prayeth shepheards, sike past than a two-year-old when noon my wearied me many a most comparison hated, as sweet love or no: it is a rhyming all over the nymph his Cheapside; and in that nation. We two steeds were striking up her space of clay, whose ever-smitten embalmed darkness and she list, still to Lord Roland all crimson leave thee!

               100

From the daylight of habit; the skies—in eastern gate, Luke Havergal. Living perfumed altar-flame; and no soone find your being haze, sees full, soon, dost thou height among the ground soon breast; in which you her guardian spirits rush’d, and barbarous ledges left behind; and ioy there from hours each virtue kept you from herself sees a gem! ’ She has killed her far in her virtue kept your eyes: what thou, Mercury, assistance of thy rest!

               101

Set myself above the call—the city cap’s a children short sweet, did I love for that true! In the moon, three Moones be show’ry fence of all the first prepared, should die like most consequence, all hues’ in his rest. Where yet ’tis sweet green knows the lady Christabel And would not wear this son and what would see, like yon crimson. Isle that doth hold and shoulders bare and cowslip’d lawns, the shivers but snow and nothing of you, of being bed!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #138 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

[the-hem]

"The Forest Fire." From the Maha Upanishad, the Exploration of the Mysteries of the Atman.

III-55-57. Objects (of the world) destroy (only) one more birth, poison destroys life only once; it is time my mind is burnt in the forest fire of defects.

Desires for enjoyment do not flash even in the illusory fatamorgana; so, oh preceptor, waken me quickly with the knowledge of truth.

If you do not, I shall take to silence, without pride and jealousy, contemplating Vishnu with the mind like one turned into a painting.

I was skeptical about desireless until some economic hardships hit and I was forced to cut way, way back. Once the mind is forced to understand it can only desire exactly what it needs, the body and the emotions drain free of all the poisons secreted by the desires for all that is extra.

The only desire that is without defects beside those for basic necessities is for true love. If one will starve oneself until one finds it and maintain strict intake of the rest, the Shastra says pride, jealousy, anger, fear, all the forest fires of life will go out. Something far more bracing and brilliant will emerge.

Turn the mind into painting of a life like this, permit it no competition and one more birth in this lifetime will take place.

[melomane-musings]

Game of Thrones, Ramin Djawadi

A general overview of Ramin Djawadi's masterpiece of a score quickly devolves into a love letter!

The Game of Thrones score is the next evolutionary step in Zimmer’s program of prestige enormity and super-macho delicacy, the soaring soulfulness of peak John Williams married to the thunderous menace of Djawadi’s beloved Metallica.

Rob Harvilla succinctly encapsulates how I would describe Djawadi's messianic score. Djawadi rejuvenates what it means to have story-enhancing scores. He underscores into the particularities of narratives. Rather than reflect a singular cinematic environment and story arc, Djawadi spins a web of interconnected themes and motifs to elevate all characters' voices. He composes themes for characters, houses, groups, locations and more ... the delicately deadly Arya Stark theme, the dauntless Greyjoy score, the horribly ominous Chaos is a Ladder, the desolate iciness, enormity, and power of the Wall and all its Northern inhabitants. What dedication from this artist to color each and every character/scene with the nuance it demands.

Much of this intentionality manifests in Djawadi's exceptional instrumentation. He implements instruments to bolster the experience and tone of the score and scene overall. Djawadi employs a strong string core -- leaning heavily on cello and violin -- while also pulling in the Armenian duduk, Indonesian drums, glass harmonica (absolutely transforming the timbre of each theme!!).

Most notably to me, is Djawadi's use of human voice. He wields the choir to emulate the significance and influence of a Greek chorus. The choir reminds listeners of ethical implications and ultimately, the People. Sometimes it manifests magnificently as a liberated people in Mhysa, though other times its featured as a ghoulish cautionary tale to not forget the lives lost to the God of Death in Winter is Here.

Among his other achievements, Djawadi writes a masterclass of manipulating keys and diatonic modes. He uses major keys to unnerve listeners and highlight pre-established tones. He makes minor keys sound triumphant and beautiful while also carrying lament and severity.

I came across a DirectTV Insider article that provides the perfect example in that of the Main Theme: "While the theme is set in a minor key, the opening bars offer a brief dalliance to a parallel major key before slipping back as the melody begins. That musical glimmer of hope actually tells you a lot about the show: just when you think you’re safe, you’re back in the realm of betrayal, poison, and undead hordes." If while listening to his work you think you noticed something unique, you did. You are correct. Ramin Djawadi put it their for your pleasure.

Overall, Djawadi proves a paragon of cinematic scoring. Djawadi's score proves evocative not merely due to its technical victories but due to his intentionality and piercing desire to waken us as an audience. He yearns for his music to fortify our emotional connection to the scene, the story, and the humanity of a Song of Ice & Fire.

If Djawadi is celebrated until the end of time, it will still not be enough.

-----

I put that last sentence into an AI thing to see how it would make it more romantic sounding and this is what I got:

When eons wane and cease to chart their course, And Djawadi's name resounds through timeless air, Yet even then, emboldened by love's force, The praise shall fall short, unable to compare.

"I like it !" (said like Joey in Friends Season 6 Ep. 9 after he eats Rachels trifle)

xx

#Spotify #game of thrones #ramin djawadi #daenerys targaryen #queen daenerys #movie soundtrack #cinema #music

[wakamotogarou]

Ode to the West Wind

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

I

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!

II

Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion, Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread On the blue surface of thine aëry surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height, The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!

III

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams,

Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day,

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear!

IV

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even I were as in my boyhood, and could be

The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven, As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed Scarce seem'd a vision; I would ne'er have striven

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

V

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

#poetry #poem #prose #Percy Bysshe Shelly

[titoist]

In vain, great-hearted Kublai, shall I attempt to describe Zaira, city of high bastions. I could tell you how many steps make up the streets rising like stairways, and the degree of the arcades' curves, and what kind of zinc scales cover the roofs; but I already know this would be the same as telling you nothing. The city does not consist of this, but of relationships between the measurements of its space and the events of its past: the height of a lamppost and the distance from the ground of a hanged usurper's swaying feet; the line strung from the lampost to the railing opposite and the festoons that decorate the course of the queen's nuptial procession; the height of that railing and the leap of the adulterer who climbed over it at dawn; the tilt of a guttering and a cat's progress along it as he slips into the same window; the firing range of a gunboat which has suddenly appeared beyond the cape and the bomb that destroys the guttering; the rips in the fish net and the three old men seated on the dock mending nets and telling each other for the hundredth time the story of the gunboat of the usurper, who some say was the queen's illegitimate son, abandoned in his swaddling clothes there on the dock. As this wave from memories flows in, the city soaks it up like a sponge and expands. A description of Zaira as it is today should contain all Zaira's past. The city, however, does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the Bags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls.

[...]

At the end of three days, moving southward, you come upon Anastasia, a city with concentric canals watering it and kites flying over it. I should now list the wares that can profitably be bought here: agate, onyx, chrysoprase, and other varieties of chalcedony; I should praise the flesh of the golden pheasant cooked here over fires of seasoned cherry wood and sprinkled with much sweet marjoram; and tell of the women I have seen bathing in the pool of a garden and who sometimes- it is said -invite the stranger to disrobe with them and chase them in the water. But with all this, I would not be telling you the city's true essence; for while the description of Anastasia awakens desires one at a time only to force you to stifle them, when you are in the heart of Anastasia one morning your desires waken all at once and surround you. The city appears to you as a whole where no desire is lost and of which you are a part, and since it enjoys everything you do not enjoy, you can do nothing but inhabit this desire and be content. Such is the power, sometimes called malignant, sometimes benign, that Anastasia, the treacherous city, possesses; if for eight hours a day you work as a cutter of agate, onyx, chrysoprase, your labor which gives form to desire takes from desire its form, and you believe you are enjoying Anastasia wholly when you are only its slave.

[...]

You walk for days among trees and among stones. Rarely does the eye light on a thing, and then only when it has recognized that thing as the sign of another thing: a print· in the sand indicates the tiger's passage; a marsh announces a vein of water; the hibiscus flower, the end of winter. All the rest is silent and interchangeable; trees and stones are only what they are. Finally the journey leads to the city of Tamara. You penetrate it along streets thick with signboards jutting from the walls. The eye does not see things but images of things that mean other things: pincers point out the tooth-drawer's house; a tankard, the tavern; halberds, the barracks; scales, the grocer's. Statues and shields depict lions, dolphins, towers, stars: a sign that something-who knows what?- has as its sign a lion or a dolphin or a tower or a star. Other signals warn of what is forbidden in a given place (to enter the alley with wagons, to urinate behind the kiosk, to fish with your pole from the bridge) and what is allowed (watering zebras, playing bowls, burning relatives' corpses). From the doors of the temples the gods' statues are seen, each portrayed with his attributes-the cornucopia, the hourglass, the medusa-so that the worshiper can recognize them and address his prayers correctly. If a building has no signboard or figure, its very form and the position it occupies in the city's order suffice to indicate its function: the palace, the prison, the mint, the Pythagorean school, the brothel. The wares, too, which the vendors display on their stalls are valuable not in themselves but as signs of other things: the embroidered headband stands for elegance; the gilded palanquin, power; the volumes of Averroes, learning; the ankle bracelet, voluptuousness. Your gaze scans the streets as if they were written pages: the city says everything you must think, makes you repeat her discourse, and while you believe you are visiting Tamara you are only recording the names with which she defines herself and all her parts. However the city may really be, beneath this thick coating of signs, whatever it may contain or conceal, you leave Tamara without having discovered it. Outside, the land stretches, empty, to the horizon; the sky opens, with speeding clouds. In the shape that chance and wind give the clouds, you are already intent on recognizing figures: a sailing ship, a hand, an elephant…

[...]

Beyond six rivers and three mountain ranges rises Zora, a city that no one, having seen it, can forget. But not because, like other memorable cities, it leaves an unusual image in your recollections. Zora has the quality of remaining in your memory point by point, in its succession of streets, of houses along the streets, and of doors and windows in the houses, though nothing in them possesses a special beauty or rarity. Zora's secret lies in the way your gaze runs over patterns following one another as in a musical score where not a note can be altered or displaced. The man who knows by heart how Zora is made, if he is unable to sleep at night, can imagine he is walking along the streets and he remembers the order by which the copper clock follows the barber's striped awning, then the fountain with the nine jets, the astronomer's glass tower, the melon vendor's kiosk, the statue of the hermit and the lion, the Turkish bath, the cafe at the comer, the alley that leads to the harbor. This city which cannot be expunged from the mind is like an armature, a honeycomb in whose cells each of us can place the things he wants to remember: names of famous men, virtues, numbers, vegetable and mineral classifications, dates of battles, constellations, parts of speech. Between each idea and each point of the itinerary an affinity or a contrast can be established, serving as an immediate aid to memory. So the world's most learned men are those who have memorized Zora. But in vain I set out to visit the city: forced to remain motionless and always the same, in order to be more easily remembered, Zora has languished, disintegrated, disappeared. The earth has forgotten her.

[music-despite-everything]

More Than You Gave by Philip Levine

Philip Levine won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1995 for his collection “The Simple Truth.” He was the US Poet Laureate for 2011-2012. He died in 2015 at the age of 87.

---

We have the town we call home wakening for dawn  which isn’t yet here but is promised, we have

our tired neighbors rising in ones and twos, we have  the sky slowly separating itself from the houses

to become the sky while the stars blink a last time  and vanish to make way for us to enter the great stage

of an ordinary Tuesday in ordinary time. We have  our curses, our gripes, our lies all on the stale breath

of 6:37 a.m. in the city no one dreams, the Tuesday city  in which we shall live for this day or not at all.

“Where are the angels?” I ask. This is a visionary moment  in the history of time, incomplete without angels,

without at least Argente of the tarnished wings,  or the mangled half-assed Incondante who speaks

only in riddles, or one-winged Sylvania who glows  in the dark. All off in eternity doing their sacred numbers.

Instead at 6:43 a.m. we have Vartan Baghosian with a face  seamed like a softball and Minky Schantz who pitched

three games for the Toledo Mud Hens in ’39 and lost  them all, we have the Volpe sisters who married

the attic on Brush Street and won’t come down,  we have me, fresh as last week, bitching about my back,

my bad ankle, we have psoriasis, heartburn, the four-day  hangover, prostatitis, Jewish mothers, Catholic guilt,

we have the teen-age Woodward Ave. whores going  to bed alone at last, hugging no one for that long moment

before the young Madonnas rise from separate beds  to open their shutters on whatever the day presents,

to pledge their virtue and their twitching, incomparable bodies  to Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Tupperware. All this

in rooms where even in the gray dishwater dawn  the chrome grill on an Admiral black-and-white TV

gleams like the chalice of Abraham. And from his corner  the genius of this time and place, Uncle Nate, chomping

his first White Owl of the day, calls out for a doughnut  and sweetened milky coffee to dunk it in and laces up

his high-tops and swears by the vision of his blind right eye  he will have strange young pussy before the sun sets

on his miserable balding dome. Today we shall paint,  for Nate is a true artist trained in the eight-hour day

to master the necessary and not the strung-out martyrs  of El Greco or the brooding landscapes of an awful century.

No, today we paint the walls, the lintels, the ceilings,  the dadoes, and the doodads of Mrs. Victoria Settle

formerly of Lake Park, Illinois, now come to grace  our city with the myth of her late husband, her terriers,

her fake accent, her Victorian brooches, her perfect posture,  and especially her money. Ask the gray windows

that look out on the remnants of winter a grand question:  “Have I come all the way through the fires of hell,

the torture of the dark night of the etc., so that I might inhale  the leaden fumes of Giddens Golden Gate as the dogsbody

of Nathaniel Hawthorne Glenner, the autodidact of Twelfth Street?”  It could be worse. It could be life without mortadella sandwiches,

twenty-five-cent pineapple pies, and quarts of Pilsner  at noon out on a manicured lawn in Grosse Pointe

under a sun that never before caressed an Armenian or a Jew.  We could be flogging Fuller brushes down the deadbeat streets

of Paradise Valley or delivering trunks to the dormitories  of the Episcopal ladies where no one tips or offers

a pastry and a schnapps for the longed-for trip  back to Sicily or Salonika; it could be the forge room

at Ford Rouge where the young get old fast or die trying.  So savor the hours as Nate recounts the day he hitchhiked

to Toledo only to arrive too late to see the young Dempsey  flatten Willard and claim the lily-white championship

of the world. “Story of my life,” says Nate, “the last to arrive,  the first to leave.” Not even Aesop could outdo our Nate,

our fabulist, whose name even is pure invention,  a confabulation of his prison reading and his twelve-year

formal education in the hobo camps of his long boyhood.  Wanderlust, he tells us, hit him at age fifteen and not

a moment too soon for Mr. Wilson was taking boys  off to die in Europe and that was just about the time

women discovered Nate or Nate discovered women,  and they were something he wouldn’t care to go without.

Call it a long day if you want and a hard one, too,  but remember we got more than we gave: we got myth,

we got music, we got underpaid work, a cheap lunch  with more to follow. On the long walk to the bus stop

and the ride home we hear the birds gathering  in the elms and maples thickening with summer finery,

and no one cares if we sing to the orange sun  that also seeks its rest, no one cares that our voices

are harsh from cigarettes and our ears worthless,  our timing off, and we’ve got the wrong words

in the wrong places. Let’s just give it what we have  and when that’s done give it a second time, one

for us and one for Nate, and even a third wouldn’t hurt.

#poemsociety #poems and poetry #poemblr #poem #poetry #more than you gave #philip levine #the simple truth #pulitzer prize for poetry #us poet laureate

[sanjuno]

Tsuna is getting more and more omniscient as he gets older in Karmic Balance. And what is Fire Shall Waken?. I don’t recall it

Kakashi and Obito heard about the Vongola Intuition, figured it was a Bloodline Talent, and went hard on maxing about Tsuna’s Timeline Fuckery Powers while they were training him. 

And Fire Shall Waken is the AU in which the Cradle Affair happens before any of Nono’s sons die, so... Enrico kidnaps Xanxus, rolls him in a blanket burrito, and fucks off to Japan with all his little brothers and like... 95% of the Vongola’s “10th Gen”.

#sanjuno talks back #fire shall waken #karmic balance

[l-r-christian]

Title: 'Anger of a Mikaelson'

Pairing: Male!Mikaelson!Original!Reader x Mikaelson family

Warnings: Angst, violence, fluff, Reader being protective big brother

Part two - part three

A/N: three part story idea

Elena woke whimpering feeling pain rake though her body when she heard foot steps headed for her. She saw a man dressed in slacks and button down with the sleeves rolled up, the man was clean shaven dark hair slicked back with dark eyes as he crossed his arms. Elena noticed she was tied down to a chair in a room where a fire place was burning, she watched as the man stood looking into the fire.

"Tell me how did it feel driving the stakes though my little brothers?" The man asked Elena confusing her as he looked at her walking over to her and kneeled down in front of her.

"Confused? My little brothers, Kol and Finn Mikaelson. All because you wanted the cure right?" The man said standing smirking pulling out a small bottle from a box placing it on table surprising Elena swallowing.

"How?" Elena asked thoat dry as the man looked at her.

"You'll be amazed how easy it is to charm a witch. Qetsiyah is quite the woman even helped her keep Silas sealed in return she gives me the cure so while your little boyfriends are on a island looking for a cure that isn't there."

"You are an Original." Elena said finally putting it together that she was looking at the oldest Mikaelson, an angry Mikaelson.

"Yes, big mistake killing dear old mother as it broke her sleeping spell she put on me."

"Why would she do such thing?"

"Well..."

Esther came rushing when an older woman came running to her saying her oldest was going to kill Mikael and came up to see her oldest son pointing a sword towards a very wounded Mikael's thoat. Niklaus was held by Rebekah as the boy had been beaten by Mikael while Elijah was trying to calm down his brother with Finn, it was terrifying for Esther to see such coldness in her son's eyes.

"Y/N, brother please. Calm yourself, Niklaus is alive and breathing." Elijah says trying everything to curb his brother's anger. Y/N had always reminded his siblings of a bear, big and scary but sweet and gentle when needed.

So whenever one got hurt it was always understood that Y/N would harm those who hurt in his words baby siblings. Esther saw this when Finn was born how Y/N watched over him which only got worst when Elijah was born followed by the others as they grew Y/N was always with at lest one of them.

"I warned him. 'Lijah if harms Niklaus again I wouldn't hesitate to kill him."

"Y/N do not kill your father!" Esther yelled as Y/N looked at her making the witch shiver as he pulled away from his father.

"You are lucky she was here Mikael." Y/N said lowly turning to Niklaus as Esther knew she had to stop her son and decided to ask her friend for help.

"So Esther put me to sleep and lied to everyone that I was killed in a raid."

"You almost killed Mikael. She was looking out for....." Elena was cut off screaming when Y/N had stabbed her leg with a hot knife and pulled it out as her chest heaved sweat rolled the side of her face.

"Do not say she had to. Esther had taken everything from me so do not say she had no choice." Y/N said moving away and grabbing a few more things as Elena shivered when fear crawled up her spine seeing the dark look in his eyes.

"Now shall we get started?"

Damon was angry pacing as both Mikaelsons and Scooby gang sat in the Salvatore home as they learned that Elena was missing along with the cure with Silas unable to waken.

"The hunter's mark should have work. And we should have the cure by now!"

"Someone clearly wants us to not find the cure." Elijah says standing behind the chair Rebekah sat in massaging her shoulders as he was stressed. Elijah hated the fact he was in the same room as the people who killed two of his brothers.

"But why take Elena? Also who is strong enough to take out a hunter?" Stefan asked handing Caroline a damp clothe as she cleaned up Jeremy who was now finally wake after they found him knocked out and Elena gone.

"Jeremy what happened?"

"Me and Elena were talking about what to do with the cure when a vampire broke in." Jeremy said as the group sat up looking at one another wondering who could else know.

"Could Katherine have told someone?"

"Jeremy, what did they look like?" Caroline asked as he sat remembering.

"He was tall, dark hair and had dark eyes. Dressed in slacks and white button up,...he had a bear pendant around his neck. Oh and a leather bracelet with some kind of Viking ruin on it." Jeremy said as the Mikaelsons froze looking at one another getting the gang's attention.

"What do you three know?"

"It is impossible. Jeremy has described our older brother, Y/N but he has been dead for years." Elijah says as Rebekah reached up gripping Elijah's hand while Klaus stood up growling when Damon made move towards them.

"Your older brother?! Why would he take Elena?"

"Because she help killed our brothers. Y/N has always been very protective of us almost kill Mikael once for beating Nik." Rebekah said as they gang paused looking to Elijah who nodded.

"Y/N had been close to Kol and Rebekah. But with both Finn and Kol dead there is no telling how deep his anger goes." Elijah says as they all got Bonnie to do a locator spell in hopes to find Elena still alive.

"Feeling tired?" Y/N asked dropping Elena's head as she felt weak and unbelievably hungry as the Original took to starving her of blood no longer finding his other methods not working.

"Pl....please....let..me go."

"No. You know my brothers would have nothing but a burning pain. I wonder if you'll feel the same pain as I if I killed little Jeremy?" Y/N says lowly looking at Elena there was a dark glint in his eyes when suddenly Damon was against the wall hand around his thoat.

"Damon Salvatore. Elena here had told me you killed Finn."

"I did and I'll do again." Damon said then groaned when he was thrown then stabbed in the shoulder as Elena looked worried trying to get free. Y/N narrowed his eyes grabbed a staked walking over to Damon slamming a foot down on his chest.

"You know, I was going to let you live but now I...." Y/N was cut off when Stefan rushed up behind him stabbing him with a dagger into his chest and the Original fell over skin turning gray. Caroline was freeing Elena and giving her a blood bag as Stefan helped Damon up and looked at the older Mikaelson.

"So do we give them their brother, seeing how we did this without their knowledge."

"No, we dump the motherfucker in the deepest lake." Damon tells Stefan glaring at Y/N.

"That wasn't the deal, Damon." They all jumped hearing Elijah seeing him standing in the doorway with Rebekah and Klaus. Rebekah ran to her big brother laying his head in her lap running her fingers though his dark hair.

"He kidnapped Elena and tortured her!"

"And you had killed both of our brothers. I say it is even now we'll even allow you to keep the cure seeing how Silas is out of the picture now." Klaus says smirking as they came to an agreement.

Once back at the Mikaelson home they layed their brother on a bed removing the dagger and waiting for him to wake up, Y/N sat up growling anger flowing but calmed down feeling Rebekah tackled him into a hug.

"Shhh little one, I am home now." Y/N says softly feeling Rebekah cling to him as Y/N saw Klaus inching into the room and the oldest open his other arm.

"Come my little wolf." Y/N says grunting when Klaus tackled him also as both younger Mikaelsons cuddled up to their brother as if they were children again. Elijah was inching in also making Y/N chuckle patting the spot behind Rebekah as Elijah joined them.

Y/N let out a calming breath feeling his siblings tighten their hold on him as if they grew up. As if they were just small children begging for his attention after he returns home from hunting trips with Finn and Mikael.

"Finn, you got all of brother's attention it is our turn." Klaus says as Y/N chuckled rubbing Klaus's head as Kol cringed to his leg with Rebekah wobbling after with Elijah's help.

"We were on a hunting trip Niklaus." Finn sighs as Y/N laughed picking up Rebekah while Esther was watching with Mikael as it wasn't uncommon for the younger children to fight for Y/N's affection.

"Brother, will I get to go with you soon?"

"Maybe next winter my little stag." Y/N says smiling at Elijah letting Kol and Klaus drag him inside to sit next to the fire. Y/N sat down with Rebekah in his lap and soon the other four got close Elijah with Klaus in his and Kol in Finn's huddling close to their brother.

"Tell us the story of the little robin again?" Kol asked as Y/N smiled nodding as that was how Esther and Mikael found their children asleep on their older brother as he softly told a story.

"Tell us the story of the little robin again?" Rebekah asked softly snapping Y/N out of his thoughts hearing her request giving her a soft yes. Y/N sat up and Rebekah got into his lap as Elijah and Klaus moved closer, Y/N's heart ached feeling his younger siblings cling to him as he began to tell the story.

"There once was a little robin." Y/N began softly as Rebekah sighed settling against his chest as both Klaus and Elijah relaxed against him also cuddled up against their brother. And that was how Caroline and Bonnie found them, asleep on their older brother making both smile as Caroline left an invitation to the Miss Mystic Falls ball before quietly leaving them with their brother.

#L.R writes #mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson imagine #rebekah mikaelson imagine #mikaelson family x reader

[aratouialsedai]

A Gender-Neutral Karaethon Cycle Where Nothing of Any Consequence Is Even Remotely Changed Whatsoever

And it shall come to pass that what we made shall be shattered, And the Shadow shall lie across the Pattern of the Age, And the Dark One shall once more lay Its hand upon the world.

And it shall come to pass that what we made shall be shattered, And the Shadow shall lie across the Pattern of the Age, And the Dark One shall once more lay Its hand upon the world. Women shall weep and men quail as the nations of the earth are rent like rotting cloth. Neither shall anything stand or abide. And it shall come to pass that what we made shall be shattered, And the Shadow shall lie across the Pattern of the Age, And the Dark One shall once more lay Its hand upon the world. Women shall weep and men quail as the nations of the earth are rent like rotting cloth. Neither shall anything stand or abide.

The Shadow shall rise across the world, and darken every land, even the smallest corner, and there shall be neither Light nor safety. And the Dragon shall be born of the Dawn, born of the Maiden To stretch forth and catch the Shadow And the world shall scream in the pain of salvation.

All Glory be to the Creator, and to the Light, and to the Dragon who shall be born again. May the Light save us from them.

Yet one shall be born to face the Shadow, Born once more as born before, and shall be born again, time without end. The Dragon shall be Reborn And there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth at this rebirth. In sackcloth and ashes will the people be clothed, And the Dragon shall break the world again by coming, Tearing apart all ties that bind.

Like the unfettered dawn shall we be blinded and burned, Yet shall the Dragon Reborn confront the Shadow at the Last Battle and with their blood shall give us the Light. Let tears flow, O ye people of the world. Weep for your salvation.

On the slopes of Dragonmount shall the babe be born; Born of a maiden wedded to no man; Of the ancient blood, and raised by the old blood. When the winds of Tarmon Gai'don scour the earth, The Dragon will face the Shadow and bring forth Light again in the world. For they shall come like the breaking dawn, And shatter the world again with their coming and make it anew.

Twice and twice shall the Dragon be marked: Twice to live, and twice to die. Once the heron, to set the path. Twice the heron, to name them true. Once the Dragon, for remembrance lost. Twice the Dragon, for the price that must be paid.

Five ride forth, and four return. Above the Watchers Over the Waves shall the Dragon be proclaimed, Bannered across the sky in fire.

The Stone of Tear will never fall, till Callandor is wielded by the Dragon's hand. The Stone of Tear will never fall, till the People of the Dragon come.

Into the heart, they thrust the sword Into the heart, to hold their hearts. Who draws it out shall follow after, What hand can grasp that fearful blade?

Power of the Shadow made human flesh Wakened to turmoil, strife, and ruin. The Reborn One, marked and bleeding, Dances the sword in dreams and mist, Chains the Shadowsworn to the Dragon's will. From the city, lost and forsaken, Leads the spears to war once more, Breaks the spears and makes them see, Truth long hidden in the ancient dream. They shall be slain with the sword of peace, and destroyed with the leaf.

With their coming are the dread fires born again. The hills burn, and the land turns sere. The tides of the sea run out, and the hours dwindle. The wall is pierced, and the veil of parting raised. Storms rumble beyond the horizon, and the fires of heaven purge the earth. There is no salvation without destruction, no hope this side of death.

The unstained tower, broken, bends knee to the forgotten sign. The seas rage, the stormclouds gather unseen. Beyond the horizon, hidden fires swell, and serpents nestle in the bosom. What was exalted is cast down; what was cast down is raised up. Order burns to clear the path.

There can be no health in us, nor any good thing grow For the land is one with the Dragon Reborn. Soul of fire, heart of stone, In pride they conquer, forcing the proud to yield. The Dragon calls upon the mountains to kneel, and the seas to give way, and the very skies to bow. Pray that the heart of stone remembers tears, and the soul of fire, love.

As the plow breaks the earth shall our lives be broken, And all that was shall be consumed in the fire of the Dragon's eyes. The trumpets of war shall sound at their footsteps, the ravens feed at their voice, and they shall wear a crown of swords.

Master of the lightnings, rider on the storm, Wearer of a crown of swords, spinner out of fate, Who thinks to turn the Wheel of Time May learn the truth too late.

The Seals that hold back the night shall weaken And in the heart of winter shall winter's heart be born, Amid the wailings of lamentation and the gnashing of teeth, For winter's heart shall ride a black horse and the name of it is Death.

And it shall come to pass, in the days when the Dark Hunt rides, When the right hand falters and the left hand strays, That we shall come to the Crossroads of Twilight, And all that is, all that was, And all that will be shall balance on the point of a sword, while the winds of Shadow grow.

The Dragon shall heal the wounds of madness and cutting of hope. They shall hold a blade of light, and the three shall be one. The Nine Moons will be bound to serve them. The North shall be bound to the east, and the west shall be bound to the south.

Twice the dawns the day when blood is shed. Once for mourning, once for birth. Red on black, the Dragon's blood stains the rock of Sayol Ghul. In the Pit of Doom shall blood free us from the Shadow. Blood on the rocks of Shayol Ghul, Washing away the Shadow, sacrifice for our salvation.

The Dragon shall break chains and put others into chains. Fortune rides like the sun on high With the Fox that makes the Ravens fly. Luck bound to the soul, the lightning to their eyes, Snatch the Moons from out of the sky. When the Wolf carries the hammer, thus are the final days known. When the Fox marries the Raven, and the trumpets of battle are blown.

#tHe FIvE oF yoU #Wheel of Time #WoT #Karaethon Cycle