Fylk

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be normal. To fall within the realm of simple, Walk around with a light hearted grin. But I'm not normal. I'm other I'm bizarre So full of strangeness. I tried being normal once. That didn't work too well. So instead I'll be strange. I'll be a crazy little poet With azure blue eyes And half forgotten wispy words.

It was just there, on far off hills, Her gleaming horn did shine. So full of hope and life was she. We knew her name, but brief. Yet in that time so much was learned. Of her joys, Of her sorrows. Such dreams that would fill a thousand Skald's tune. Why then, cruel fate did you see fit to take her? Was there some impasse, or some gamble made, For which her life was the wager! Then, after that, did you choose such a slow path? I know the Clarion's call, Those knells call her now. No more shall she been seen in these land, By these eyes. For each in our part shall we mourn her. Sleep softly now. Your path of shale has come to it

I have walked to many times and many places And seen the stone gods with their iron faces Watched the starts swirl with their delighted graces Yet below them a  war does rage A war of hate A war of fear A war that knows not date or year Timeless as the open sky, we fight it. I bare its wounds, I bare its scares, I wield its bloodied sword The Clarion 's voices call us, like a sweet lovers songs, Yet we are born to this war, born to this fear. I know I can escape. I am not like them. I do not fight like them I do not walk like them, I do not fear like them. Wanderer is my name. The last soul, the Forsaken course. He who was

That is the price of a heart, I fear to feel all things. To know all things. To be all things. Within the eyes of others and shaped by their hearts You will strive against all hardships And with all joys. Until the end of days That bring your heart's final beat.

swirl around me, Airs Vapors. Embrace this so enfeebled mind and make for it a will One that is to shape words And make of itself new ideas and concepts Come, O great Airs Hasten as you do the spring New thoughts, New ideas. And swirl about me.

I lay there,  My body,  tortured with its own mortality.  And watched the sky above me. There was a great storm starting to grow in it. And still there I lay with my ruined body. It slowly was turning to dust and ash,  as is the mortal way of things. And the storm was rushing around in the sky, So busy, so busy with all its inner workings. That I lost of myself. For a time, to drift. For a time, I was able to be more than mortal again. But there are joys to be had as a mortal. There is love, more fierce and more powerful  than any raging storm. And love is that thing which makes a ruined body Worth the waiting Mor

I am the man of a thousand masks. They sit there, in a trunk, in an un-assuming room. You have seen some of them, But there are many more still to wait. There is the purple mask I wear to parties, flush full of revelous joy. There is the twisted and torn mask of Anguish, which rarely do I wear of late. There is a red mask, full of one kind of rage. There is the crying mask, only used in The Game. Yet I am still the man of a thousand masks. that I have worn over and over again. There are a few that I do not wear yet, Or have already worn. The mask of a babe, the mask of age, There are masks to be worn over others, or below.

I climbed the mountains, And sang to the Wind “Lend me wings so I may fly.” The Wind whispered back to me, “Why Dragon, when you have your own?” I searched the desert, And fed the Fire “Lend me your power so I may fight.” The Fire crackled back to me, “Why Dragon, when you have your own fire?” I braved the deepest cave And lamented the Earth “Lend me your armor so I am safe.” The Earth moaned back to me, “Why Dragon, when you are scaled better then my own?” I sailed the calm sea, And asked the Water “Lend me you calm so I may be fair.” The Water roared bac