Day 100 - A New Beginning

During a springtime long ago, my friend Finneas and I, and the knight Cymru, and my stout and strong-hearted brother Kaial left on a journey that would take us across strange and dangerous lands, spanning valleys and hills I still long for.  The hard path tired our legs and backs, drove welts across our faces and furrows across our brows.  We never ceased being weary of our journey, yet we were emboldened by the many threats offered by the boundless land, creatures and forces as diverse in nature as can be imagined by anyone who has not ventured beyond the fields and woods of our homeland.  The feral demon, Dghom Ulfr, the various and terrible denizens of the Outland, the broad-winged and untamed birds of the Great Moors - all of these creatures are forever etched in my memory, a carved monument about which all future events in my life shall circle.  I left my home, innocent, and excited about the prospect of adventure.  I return, having lost some of my friends, having found many others; but I return home, forever changed, and a stranger to all who once knew me.

99 Unfinished Perhaps

98 They Live Among Us

97 Apparition

96 If Life Had Meaning

95 Geologic Fusion

94 Respite

93 Night Visions

92 The Cube Unplugged no.3

91 One More Goodnight

90 CityLife

89 Another Point of View

Inspired by Julia Davies asemic ramblings

88 Unsettled at Pismo Beach

87 Butterfly Composition

86 The Hood

 

Inspired by Kelli Newton Costa NYC photo

85 Sometimes There's Just No Way Out

84 Invasion

83 Steeple

82 Cave of the Black Dog Part VI - Conclusion

* Wodan's Wilde Jagd (Hunt) by F.W. Heine (1882)

Conclusion

The wind cries softly in the field,

Zephyrs wafting among the long grass.

All who I have known encircle me,

Their lips form many words,

And the sounds imprint upon my ears,

But my friends are all strangers,

And have little to tell me.

This is a place I have journeyed

Many times before, and to which

I will return. Maybe then,

Maybe next time

The words will speak to me.

Drums in the distance,

Howls in the distance,

Fields laid flat by the wind,

Sun blocked by grey,

Sun blocked by blackness

Sun blocked by waters drip

From the high walls of my home

The horn of the Hunter blares in the void

The horn of the Hunter calls the hounds

The horn of the Hunter calls for judgment

“What is your song, Surface man?”

And in my voice I hear,

“The wide waters call to me,

Every current, every ripple,

The ocean’s azure cast,

The seas caressing song

Carving the fisherman’s tale,

Remembering harvests from recent times,

Remembering harvests from ancient times

Remembering the blood and bone of ancestors.”

But the Black Hunter slams down his axe,

Splinters the table before me,

Sound echoing among the hollow chasms

Flame cascading from the grim haft

And the fire crackles from broken wood

And ice crackles in the depths

And the Black Dog’s eyes flare

And the Black Hunter commands

To know the Truth that I carry.

The Hunter passes his hand over his axe,

And commands  again

To hear my song.

His companions fade into darkness

“What is your song?” he cries.

“What is the chant that names you?”

“It is the song of the Black Dog,

“It is the song long lost,

It is the forgotten promise

By which so much has been lost.

It is the beating drum,

The snap of branch,

The breaking wave.

It is broken hope.

It is the forgotten promise,

My soul undone,

The aching gnaw.

It is the place where I return,

Where I rest my fate.”

And the Hunter’s axe –

By right of the Hunt

Strikes deep within my bosom,

Shattering bone and flesh –

My life is lost,

And will soon be forgot.

81 Cave of the Black Dog Part V

Part V

In the nave of the village church,

Metallic snap echoes as

The iron-laden doors shut.

Latches secure the Chapel’s etched glass,

Offerings at the altar,

Prayers at the altar

Chanting at the altar.

None will stop the Howl,

None will slake the thirst of Wind and Wave.

While in my granite cell

I look up, scenes of  Hell

Upon the roof,

When I look down,

An oaken chair,

Where my hands had been, I find black claws

Clutching at the curled arms.

Before me, a great Fire-stone, flames

Echoing from its center.

And across from me, a slender wisp

Rises from her own seat,

Encouraging the fire.

Chains curl behind me and to my side,

Spirits play in the smoke before me;

Feeding the Incineratus, Hideous

Shapes with mouths agape -

Many I have known.

Whose fault

Winds snapped the mast

Whose fault

Waves breaching the seawall

Whose fault

Red Eyes in Storm Clouds

Mea culpa

Mea culpa

Mea culpa

Shape envelops the wisp,

Substance to the dream,

Her flesh turns tight.

Her flesh turns grey,

Eyes of slate

Set upon a bony platter -

Shadow darkening across her figure.

The Black Dog sits beside her

Now a beast without eyes,

A slavering maw exhaling death.

Its sniff, a shivering hiss,

Its paws, pressing the air from my lungs,

Its teeth, like fire-shards, burrow into my flesh.

I think upon much that is lost,

And watch dimly as the blood

Pulses from my body.

I see her again,

And she has my mother’s face.

Black axes splinter the bold doors

Of the Village Church,

Hunters and dogs seeking

Victims who

Had sought victims themselves.

Promises to be kept

Promises to be kept

The Wild Hunt touches all.

I see her as she looked to me

When I was but a child

Then

Darkness is all.