Alivia, white earth sorceress of only twelve summers, embarks on a journey to regain her kingdom, avenge her parents, while locating twelve talismans Lord Guthrie needs to release the destroyer Aba…
Source: They Called Her Alivia
Alivia, white earth sorceress of only twelve summers, embarks on a journey to regain her kingdom, avenge her parents, while locating twelve talismans Lord Guthrie needs to release the destroyer Aba…
Source: They Called Her Alivia
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He stood upon the cliffs awaiting the sunrise
Watching as the last of the moon descended
Anticipating the light meeting the sea
Listening to the waves kissing the shore.
As the tips of light began to reflect
He saw her on the rocks below
Sable hair embracing her shoulders
Skin so pale against the sea washed rocks
He watched as she finger combed her tresses
Humming softly to the morn
A siren song to warm and greet him
Watching, yearning, wanting more.
She must have felt his eyes upon her
Green met fawn linking sea and sky
Caressing, calling, passions rising
Heart beats crashing with the tides
Both knew magic in their souls
Part man, part hawk he spread his wings
On gentle currents down he drifted,
Softly landing on the shore.
But soul mates they could never be
For she was not his kind
Through eyes that glistened with briny tears
She bidden him good life and goodbye
For her world was not of air and sun
Her world was wet and blue
She donned her skin and swam away
As selkie maidens do.
Filed under Poetry
Creeping in, it caught me unaware
In the dead of night, where dreams slither
With stealth it creeps like smoky vapor
My spirit cries out in apprehension.
It wore a cloak and dagger,
Which dripped words undeclared
Empty parchment waiting
To be soaked with poignant imagery.
The cloak, but a shroud to hide behind
The dagger, a trusty friend
An extension of unconscious contemplation
Oozing thoughts, torn from heart to pen.
I am but a victim of resourceful temperament
Lost souls with untold stories clamoring for release
Mysteries yet unraveled, murders to be solved
Lingering shadows, bound by cloak and dagger.
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In the vastest of the eastern landscape,
A ball of orange rises
Bathing sands of time in its brilliant hue.
Where Egyptian pharaohs
With their ladies danced
Building monuments that far outlived them.
Camels walk, where brave men venture
Religions as old as the ground they tread
Shifting sands with unaltered beliefs.
Time rolls across the dunes
Altering life and destinations
Buried stories, deep beneath its crust.
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Where butterflies were spun of gold
And Unicorns with fairies told
The tales of selkies and magic wands
Where rainbows dipped to drink from ponds
I rode the clouds amongst the trees
Catching rides on wings of bee’s
I danced a jig in clovers four
With elves and sprites from times of yore
I followed bunnies to their dens
Chased fireflies to earth again
To proudly stand on hollow ground
Where knights in armor once abound
Then back to sky I flew on leaves
That carried songs upon my sleeves
Back to the field where I reposed
To end my dream as daylight closed
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Another year has marched out of my life.
A crusading warrior making his way back home,
Leaving bloody battlefields in his wake.
Trampled valleys where dreams once stood.
In the beginning, the year tiptoed in,
Softly sprinkling crystallized wishes.
Ideas, floating like a fine dusting of snow,
Forming a light covering on my bed of anticipation.
In swept the Ides of Spring laden with promises.
Storms tossing my wants in a turbulent sea of needs.
I planted my seeds with the expectancy of progression,
Hoping to find nourishment for my battered soul.
Summer scorched a path through my life
Bringing passion and potential to my fertile soil
Growing, thriving, reaching for the budding of fulfillment
Hopes alive, green and fresh, standing tall against adversity.
Autumn flew in on the winds of a changeling,
Taking the abundance and leaving a barren field.
Stripped of optimism, I wander in the fields of despair,
Wondering where my footpath led me astray.
Yes wicked winter with your freezing rains.
You beat against me, leaving blisters in your wake.
But Spring will return, of this I am certain,
Bringing with it the possibilities of contentment.
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Sandy hooves paint ground fog in their wake
Shuffling along swattin’ flies off molty hides
Riders amble aside keeping eye on their stake
Chuck wagon camps, setting up by a creek
Beans and pan bread cookin’ over hot stones
Coffee’s meandering aroma penetrates the air
Greeting men carrying saddles over tired bones
Ranch hands scout the waters nearby
Look to the sky to judge the night
Storms a comin’ as night encroaches
Coyotes restless, cries rent last light
Cattle dogs alert to changes
Nip the heels of stragglin’ calves
Cowhand slaps his rope while coaxing
Blistered hands and lips in need of salves
Cowhands sing to calm their charges
Bedrolls gathered near the fire
Dreaming of a trail once taken
And of their loves as they retire
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