it is...difficult.
your eyes slide off my skin,
where they used to linger.
perhaps its the wind,
changing everything.
these words are empty, are pointless
a broken string
a cracked pot
a shoe full of holes
And I am up late again, as I used to be.
All progress comes with headaches,
tired muscles,
sore eyes....
and yet the stars are still as beautiful as they always were.
Your eyes slide off of my skin,
each time the drop is a day that I've lost
Silvery eye has closed five times,
golden eye has closed twenty one times,
the days that I've lost.
It is 10:50 pm
and I am without you.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
And here I thought it would all be fine
It would be fine to not wake up after this,
I'm consigned to never speak again
that tonight could be my final rest;
a spinning car highway
and a plain brick wall
in a black and white photograph.
If all the thoughts that lead
up till now
were a premonition
I'd say forget the pen and ink,
just leave the paper blank
oh I'm so tired of my own company
and the last leg of this road
where there's no one to talk to,
your feet move too quickly
dear, to hold your hand again
I'd say Awake! Awake!
But from then to now
all I hold in these fingers
are your letters made soft
from crying eyes and clenching fists.
I'm consigned to never open eyelids again,
and from where the old ways are gone
it would still hurt to look down upon you.
Good god, I mean it when I say
I wish to never wake again.
I'm consigned to never speak again
that tonight could be my final rest;
a spinning car highway
and a plain brick wall
in a black and white photograph.
If all the thoughts that lead
up till now
were a premonition
I'd say forget the pen and ink,
just leave the paper blank
oh I'm so tired of my own company
and the last leg of this road
where there's no one to talk to,
your feet move too quickly
dear, to hold your hand again
I'd say Awake! Awake!
But from then to now
all I hold in these fingers
are your letters made soft
from crying eyes and clenching fists.
I'm consigned to never open eyelids again,
and from where the old ways are gone
it would still hurt to look down upon you.
Good god, I mean it when I say
I wish to never wake again.
To be quite honest
nobody else does, either.
I'm tired. I stayed up too late last night. I miss going to be at nine thirty. I think I might be the only person who does so.
probably not.
Stuck in recycling bins,
they've forgotten everything.
Its easier when you turn the world black and white,
but in the end, you're the liar.
I'm tired. I stayed up too late last night. I miss going to be at nine thirty. I think I might be the only person who does so.
probably not.
Stuck in recycling bins,
they've forgotten everything.
Its easier when you turn the world black and white,
but in the end, you're the liar.
Hammer and anvil
Don't look up,
don't look up,
the mason jars are
empty.
Don't look up,
don't look up,
answer shackled-
and the chamber
might not be.
The only reason I do this
is because my mother couldn't watch
another blow to the head.
don't look up,
the mason jars are
empty.
Don't look up,
don't look up,
answer shackled-
and the chamber
might not be.
The only reason I do this
is because my mother couldn't watch
another blow to the head.
Front porch
Whenever I walk up or down the stairs that lead to my third floor apartment, I see the same thing. An older man, on the stairwell across from me. He sits in his chair silently, usually working on something with his hands. I imagine he carves figurines. He has flower pots all along the railing, and a cross pinned up on the wall. Beside him sits his slightly ragged, albeit healthy, looking dog. Shaggy wheat colored fur and a somber face rest on paws, occasionally sniffing at some insect passerby. I admit, I strain my neck to see inside his apartment when he leaves the door opened. A flower vase, a coffee table, old pictures; everything looks at least fifty years old. Sometimes he smokes a cigarette and stares off into some place I can't quite catch a glimpse of. He is always there. He lives alone.
I don't ever want to be that man,
even though he might be happier than I ever will be.
I don't ever want to be that man,
even though he might be happier than I ever will be.
Pagany
I haven't been feeling very pagan lately.
I'm not sure why. Perhaps its because of everything I have to do...school tends to suck out my personality. I thin k I'm the poster boy for crazy associations, I relate a lot to paganism. Not the typical earth, deities, magic (Don't get me started on this subject), and so forth. But a lot of people in my past are shadows of my beliefs.
In any case, the first meeting is tomorrow. It could decide everything, but it shouldn't decide anything at all.
I'm not sure why. Perhaps its because of everything I have to do...school tends to suck out my personality. I thin k I'm the poster boy for crazy associations, I relate a lot to paganism. Not the typical earth, deities, magic (Don't get me started on this subject), and so forth. But a lot of people in my past are shadows of my beliefs.
In any case, the first meeting is tomorrow. It could decide everything, but it shouldn't decide anything at all.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Aeothane Wodensen
This is the backstory for my character in Dungeons and Dragons. I just wrote it, so....yeah.
Aeothane Wodensen
Aeothane was born on a small farm only a few miles out from talon gorge. He lived there with his father, Thane, and his mother, Aeolynn. Upon his birth the names of his parents were combined to create the name Aeothane would carry.
Thane was a retired Soldier, and so he also taught Aeothane about combat, and battle strategy. Thane was a tall man with chorded muscles and a broad chest. Although his hair as crimson as heated steel, his face was always clean shaven. He taught him how to tend soil, to grow crops, and how to raise and slaughter animals. He also taught Aeothane how to hunt. Aeolynn was of normal height, and had beautiful braided hair, which shown like wheat fields and swayed in the wind just the same. She taught Aeothane the arts of poetry, mending cloth, and creating things out of wood. Aeloyn was no average housewife. When Aeothane was very young, his father had been away from home when a man came in the night to rob them. In seeing Aeolynn’s beauty as she slept, the midnight theif moved to assault her. Aeolynn leapt from her bed, and sent the man off clutching the bloodied stump of flesh where his left hand used to be.
Aeothane’s family was also a very religious one. Aeolynn would tell Aeothane stories of Kord, and Ehlona, the two deities their family revered the most. She Also led out family rituals and prayers. Thane would often take Aeothane out into the woods and say to him,
“Aeothane, many people view Kord as a god of battle, and battle alone. He has certainly seen me through many wars that I should not have lived through. But what most do not realize is that he is also a god of agriculture, even if indirectly. Just as a general or captain makes sure his soldiers are well fed, Kord speaks to the gods of the harvest and of the hunt on our behalf so that we may be strong, and fight hard. Kord does not want weak, unfed warriors showing up to his great hall after they die.”
Up until the age of twelve, Aeothane lived on the beautiful farm with his parents. His father called the place ‘Skjonnhalla’, the Beautiful Hall. Thane used to say “A place Kord himself woulf marvel at”, and indeed it was magnificent. It did not have golden pillars made by gnomes, nor silver entryways crafted by elves. It did not have platinum filigree over the windows, as the dwarves or Halflings might have had. It had beauty in that Thane and Aeolyn had built it with their own hands, in their own time, with the vision of raising a family there.
This beauty could not last, however. The day after Aeothane’s birthday, His father sent him out to hunt a doe that had been seen around Skjonnhalla. It was Aeothane’s first hunt alone, and it took him the better part of the day. Upon returning home, the doe slung over his back, Aeothane saw his beautiful home destroyed. It was the only time that He had aver felt fear this deep. He rushed towards the smoldering embers of what once was his home, and cursed himself for not returning earlier when he had thought he smelled smoke. It was a stupid mistake. He found his father, as grey as the ash around him, and with limbs torn from his body. His mother had been decapitated, stripped, and hung from a beam that had been thrust into the ground. A bestial, primal roar bellowed from the darkest depths of Aeothane’s being. He cursed the sky, the ground, the trees and the wind. He cursed the gods for not protecting his family, and he cursed those that murdered them. But most of all, he cursed himself.
Aeothane had nothing but the clothes on his back, a hunting knife, and his bow and arrows. Foolishly he ran into the woods, following deep footprints left in the soil. He ran for days, until his body ached and screamed at him for food, water, and rest. He finally collapsed upon a large plateau, from which he could view the glittering empire sea. His mind went black, his eyes shut, and he fell into the deepest sleep he had ever known.
He awoke to the earth shaking terribly, and to the cacophony of thunder. A hand gripped his chin and tilted his head back. A hot, salty stew ppoured down his throat and burned his stomach. Only then did he realize that the shaking of the earth was actually a wagon, and the thunder was the clip clopping of a donkey’s hooves. Aeothane’s eyes opened to the face of an old, dwarven women. Her hair was blond; in a neat braid that hung over her shoulder. She wore a simple brown dress that matched her eyes and held in her hand a large ball of spun wool yarn. She spoke, but her language was unfamiliar to Aeothane. Upon noticing his lack of comprehension, the women said in a thick dwarvish accent,
“My husband was hunting when he found you, curled up like a dead weasel on the rocks. Where are you from?” Aeothane told her about skjonhalla, his home, and his family. He also spoke of how his family had been murdered, and of how he was looking for those who had killed them. After much talk, Aeothane learned that he had been unconsciouss for nearly five days. The dwarf woman said, “We are just outside of Ringsdale, perhaps someone there knows you and can help you.” Realizing he did not know their names, Aeothane asked the dwarf woman who she and her husband, who was guiding the donkey, were. She replied, “I am Griffa, and my husband is Nido.”
Aeothane didn’t formally meet Nido until they arrived at Ringsdale. He appeared older than Griffa, although how old he was Aeothane had no idea. He had heard that dwarves could live to be four hundred, so the amount of years seen by Griffa and Nido was a mystery to him. Nido wore a tall, grey hat that came to a point and had a large brim that ran all the way around the base. His beared was neatly combed and tucked into his belt, which was of the same leather that made the patch which covered his left eye. Nido was a dwarf of very few words.
As the dwarf couple bartered their goods, Aeothane worried for his future. He sat in the wagon, crying softly as he realized that he had no home. As the sun began to set Nido returned to the wagon. He sat down beside Aeothane, lit up a long wooden pipe and said in a deep bubbling voice, “Boy, what in all of evanoch do you have to cry about?” Enraged, Aeothane explained his family’s murder to the old dwarf. He slung each word at Nido, hoping it stung like a dagger. After a long puff from his pipe, Nido spoke.
“Aeothane, you say your name is. From what you have said, your family was a strong one. Why then do you cry? Yes, a terrible thing has happened, but now you have a purpose. Now you have a job. Certainly you cannot get that done sniveling in here like a frightened lamb. I offer this to you; come live with griffa and I. We could use the help around our farm, and you will have a roof over your head. Nearby our home is Underhar, our capital. There you can train in any way you see fit, although I cannot guarantee that every dwarf will welcome you.”
Aeothane accepted Nido’s offer, and lived with he and Griffa for many years. He learned the dwarven language, and devoted all of his time to Training in combat, so that he may one day enact revenge on those who destroyed his family. However, in doing so he forgot many of the skills that were taught to him. Hunting, crafting, and mending clothes were pushed aside as Aeothane learned how to be deadly with an axe.
At the age of twenty, Aeothane moved away from his new dwarven family. Although it tore him apart inside to do so, he felt that he was ready to begin his search for those that had slaughtered his parents. He returned to Talon Gorge, where he has lived for five years. He makes his living as a ‘blade for hire’, although he keeps his job quiet. He also strides towards getting his birthright from those that hold it within the vaults of Talon Gorge. Because everything of his childhood was burned, he has no way of proving that he is the son of Thane and Aeolynn. So, his birthright sits untouched.
Aeothane Wodensen
Aeothane was born on a small farm only a few miles out from talon gorge. He lived there with his father, Thane, and his mother, Aeolynn. Upon his birth the names of his parents were combined to create the name Aeothane would carry.
Thane was a retired Soldier, and so he also taught Aeothane about combat, and battle strategy. Thane was a tall man with chorded muscles and a broad chest. Although his hair as crimson as heated steel, his face was always clean shaven. He taught him how to tend soil, to grow crops, and how to raise and slaughter animals. He also taught Aeothane how to hunt. Aeolynn was of normal height, and had beautiful braided hair, which shown like wheat fields and swayed in the wind just the same. She taught Aeothane the arts of poetry, mending cloth, and creating things out of wood. Aeloyn was no average housewife. When Aeothane was very young, his father had been away from home when a man came in the night to rob them. In seeing Aeolynn’s beauty as she slept, the midnight theif moved to assault her. Aeolynn leapt from her bed, and sent the man off clutching the bloodied stump of flesh where his left hand used to be.
Aeothane’s family was also a very religious one. Aeolynn would tell Aeothane stories of Kord, and Ehlona, the two deities their family revered the most. She Also led out family rituals and prayers. Thane would often take Aeothane out into the woods and say to him,
“Aeothane, many people view Kord as a god of battle, and battle alone. He has certainly seen me through many wars that I should not have lived through. But what most do not realize is that he is also a god of agriculture, even if indirectly. Just as a general or captain makes sure his soldiers are well fed, Kord speaks to the gods of the harvest and of the hunt on our behalf so that we may be strong, and fight hard. Kord does not want weak, unfed warriors showing up to his great hall after they die.”
Up until the age of twelve, Aeothane lived on the beautiful farm with his parents. His father called the place ‘Skjonnhalla’, the Beautiful Hall. Thane used to say “A place Kord himself woulf marvel at”, and indeed it was magnificent. It did not have golden pillars made by gnomes, nor silver entryways crafted by elves. It did not have platinum filigree over the windows, as the dwarves or Halflings might have had. It had beauty in that Thane and Aeolyn had built it with their own hands, in their own time, with the vision of raising a family there.
This beauty could not last, however. The day after Aeothane’s birthday, His father sent him out to hunt a doe that had been seen around Skjonnhalla. It was Aeothane’s first hunt alone, and it took him the better part of the day. Upon returning home, the doe slung over his back, Aeothane saw his beautiful home destroyed. It was the only time that He had aver felt fear this deep. He rushed towards the smoldering embers of what once was his home, and cursed himself for not returning earlier when he had thought he smelled smoke. It was a stupid mistake. He found his father, as grey as the ash around him, and with limbs torn from his body. His mother had been decapitated, stripped, and hung from a beam that had been thrust into the ground. A bestial, primal roar bellowed from the darkest depths of Aeothane’s being. He cursed the sky, the ground, the trees and the wind. He cursed the gods for not protecting his family, and he cursed those that murdered them. But most of all, he cursed himself.
Aeothane had nothing but the clothes on his back, a hunting knife, and his bow and arrows. Foolishly he ran into the woods, following deep footprints left in the soil. He ran for days, until his body ached and screamed at him for food, water, and rest. He finally collapsed upon a large plateau, from which he could view the glittering empire sea. His mind went black, his eyes shut, and he fell into the deepest sleep he had ever known.
He awoke to the earth shaking terribly, and to the cacophony of thunder. A hand gripped his chin and tilted his head back. A hot, salty stew ppoured down his throat and burned his stomach. Only then did he realize that the shaking of the earth was actually a wagon, and the thunder was the clip clopping of a donkey’s hooves. Aeothane’s eyes opened to the face of an old, dwarven women. Her hair was blond; in a neat braid that hung over her shoulder. She wore a simple brown dress that matched her eyes and held in her hand a large ball of spun wool yarn. She spoke, but her language was unfamiliar to Aeothane. Upon noticing his lack of comprehension, the women said in a thick dwarvish accent,
“My husband was hunting when he found you, curled up like a dead weasel on the rocks. Where are you from?” Aeothane told her about skjonhalla, his home, and his family. He also spoke of how his family had been murdered, and of how he was looking for those who had killed them. After much talk, Aeothane learned that he had been unconsciouss for nearly five days. The dwarf woman said, “We are just outside of Ringsdale, perhaps someone there knows you and can help you.” Realizing he did not know their names, Aeothane asked the dwarf woman who she and her husband, who was guiding the donkey, were. She replied, “I am Griffa, and my husband is Nido.”
Aeothane didn’t formally meet Nido until they arrived at Ringsdale. He appeared older than Griffa, although how old he was Aeothane had no idea. He had heard that dwarves could live to be four hundred, so the amount of years seen by Griffa and Nido was a mystery to him. Nido wore a tall, grey hat that came to a point and had a large brim that ran all the way around the base. His beared was neatly combed and tucked into his belt, which was of the same leather that made the patch which covered his left eye. Nido was a dwarf of very few words.
As the dwarf couple bartered their goods, Aeothane worried for his future. He sat in the wagon, crying softly as he realized that he had no home. As the sun began to set Nido returned to the wagon. He sat down beside Aeothane, lit up a long wooden pipe and said in a deep bubbling voice, “Boy, what in all of evanoch do you have to cry about?” Enraged, Aeothane explained his family’s murder to the old dwarf. He slung each word at Nido, hoping it stung like a dagger. After a long puff from his pipe, Nido spoke.
“Aeothane, you say your name is. From what you have said, your family was a strong one. Why then do you cry? Yes, a terrible thing has happened, but now you have a purpose. Now you have a job. Certainly you cannot get that done sniveling in here like a frightened lamb. I offer this to you; come live with griffa and I. We could use the help around our farm, and you will have a roof over your head. Nearby our home is Underhar, our capital. There you can train in any way you see fit, although I cannot guarantee that every dwarf will welcome you.”
Aeothane accepted Nido’s offer, and lived with he and Griffa for many years. He learned the dwarven language, and devoted all of his time to Training in combat, so that he may one day enact revenge on those who destroyed his family. However, in doing so he forgot many of the skills that were taught to him. Hunting, crafting, and mending clothes were pushed aside as Aeothane learned how to be deadly with an axe.
At the age of twenty, Aeothane moved away from his new dwarven family. Although it tore him apart inside to do so, he felt that he was ready to begin his search for those that had slaughtered his parents. He returned to Talon Gorge, where he has lived for five years. He makes his living as a ‘blade for hire’, although he keeps his job quiet. He also strides towards getting his birthright from those that hold it within the vaults of Talon Gorge. Because everything of his childhood was burned, he has no way of proving that he is the son of Thane and Aeolynn. So, his birthright sits untouched.
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