My mind keeps
shriveling
in its skull.

I beg, but
my eyes stay
wide open.

What should I
call waking
nightly dreams?

Oh, you wish to dance to the song of steel, do you?
Well, I see you have your sword,
your dented, battered metal stick.
But do you have the ear for battle?

When your foe comes running at you,
will you fall for the lies
that their tongue and their eyes sing,
or are you sharp enough to hear
the strike of their blade through the air
and leap away before they gut you?

Well, it's not so easy as just a swing here
or a battle cry there.
You've got to feel connected to your own sword
more than the blood pumping in your veins.
'Cause if you can't use the first one,
you'll just as soon lose the second
and bathe in it before you spill a drop of your enemy's own.

Now, you can stay if you want,
​and learn this dance.
If that is what you wish.
For though the song of steel is harsh,
oh does it ring clear...
​
But heed this warning now, child.
None will treat you easily
or coddle you here.
Run away with steel
and you'll never return home the same way.
It'll harden your bones and your muscles, yes.
But your soul as well.
And the very same steel that you live to fight with
may very well slay you in the end.

Funny how notes can carry you away
from whatever's gone wrong with your day, or week, or year.
Whatever fear is tickling in the back of your mind
and giggling at your back when you are near,
has no power over you while you're enthralled
within music's tender and unyielding grip.

Because no matter what troubles have socked you in the lip,
when the music starts to play
all fear and dismay
​scatters to the wind.

Drifting slowly downward, from lofty
highs of adrenaline. The fall
is always worth the buzz that
comes with new stories and
adventures. But no
matter the tale,
afterwards
rest claims
​us.

Cornered in the rocks.
Towered over by laughing
conceited shadows.

The sun dripped from the sky in silver
pooling at my feet.
A mercurial end to the day
that sluiced over stones and sand,
trailing after me as I stumbled on.
Again and again, I tried to lose it.
But every time I turned to glance back,
there it was.
I wanted my time to end,
to cease its eternal ramblings down a desert road.
But I'm still stumbling on
with rancid sunlight pooling at my feet.

There's a song fluttering just out of reach
tantalizingly clear
in soft air that sings to you of possibilities.

Of summer days,
with soft meadows underfoot,
cooling shade beneath a tree,
the soft buzzing of honey bees
and flower petals.

If you could only just catch that first note
and follow it home,
maybe you'll fall back into those carefree days
and you can run barefoot again
through the cool morning dew.

You poor mortal souls.
Trapped inside bodies that slowly dismantle and decay
all while you watch
and feel yourselves growing more feeble with every passing moment.

It must be torture
to be blessed with a physical form
but have its health be finite
and your limits binding.

We the spirits of above and below
shudder to imagine it.
We who exist from one age to the next
and watch as your civilizations fall.
We the strong where you are weak.
We whose souls create worlds innumerable.

We will watch you
and laugh.
But will always wonder...
what it feels like when the sun caresses you
and if the eternity of death is cold.

Please- please come to me, cool breath of air
and banish the heat from my skin.
If that is too much to ask
then a little respite
is just as welcome.
I'm being baked
here inside
my own
​skin.

The heat of the day
fades away, as sun and moon
go their separate ways.