Hope Anew

Long forgotten, buried in memories old,
Lies this tale begotten, from the myths of the few bold,
Who upon their shoulders was carried, our fate and theirs,
As to have their legacy never buried, the answer to our prayers.

Of these days few memories survive, for such is their fate,
To never fully thrive. Yet in us lies, duty so great,
To remember this lore, as to avoid another such war.

Yet forgotten in time, also forgotten in mind,
And for centuries buried, at last the tale’s brought back to light,
By those who’ve been harried, by those sired by this same knight

So all ye hear and hearken, for wisdom is due,
A hope against this new omen, a hope that is all too true.
So grip this knowledge tightly, take heart and breathe anew,
Cuddling by it nightly, letting the words cut through bone and sinew.

Twenty centuries have passed, more if one begins from the start,
Since this day unsurpassed, in love, in miracle, in deeds from the heart.
Darkness all over crept, when the prophecy became flesh,
A promise which heeds all those who wept, to make hope and life once more fresh.

A foe merrily ruled the land, much like what we have at hand,
A darkness not heeded, which brought pain not needed,
Through strive, through famine, through disease; his hunger was never appeased.

A similar foe rules today, kept in check, barely at bay,
By a handful of brave, a handful not deprave.
These are the heirs to the throne, brothers in blood, brothers in soul,
These are the ones who atone, the ones who seek to be made whole.

Yet as in all dark times a hero arose, to change our fate, to challenge all foes.
Bravely he stood and in defiance he lived, preparing the path, our salvation so swift,
Walking in light, walking in grace, sharing a life which all sought to embrace.

The king upon his throne sat, a throne of pain, a throne of blood,
Nourished content and fat, while the people ailed with crud.
The king seemed to care not, of all else besides him he utterly forgot.

Injustice he imparted to old and young, reigning merrily free of threat and want,
Yet hearing the prophecy its meaning stung, leaving this fat selfish monarch all but daunt.
Rising swiftly, filled with despair, he made his face solemn for all to bear,
Turning fear to ire he ordered a hunt, dispatched all the army up to the very last grunt.

To bring the saviour’s head they had, to hunt and kill like wolves gone mad,
Obey they did, their souls being his, children slit as if nothing amiss.
Yet hope anew arose, despite the chaos brought by the foes,
For here the hero was saved, spirited away, never to be enslaved.

And so the years went by, the time of freedom ever more nigh.
The tyrant monarch restless grew, his fear consuming, his downfall too true.
A decade times three came and went, nothing ever diminishing his torment.

Day and night he trembled and despaired, knowing his doom to be prepared,
To escape from fate he could not, of all else besides the hero he forgot.
Obsession ravaged his mind, his body and soul followed close behind.
Estranged from the world he became, enclosed in his own madness never tamed.

And so another myth was born, of the cruel tyrant upon the throne,
Never dying, his people forever forlorn, his cruelty and malice having only grown,
To him by folklore immortality bestowed, in nightmares alone he now abode.

Of the hero people forgot, the prophecy legends and myth became,
His name uttered was not, his birth and memory rapidly losing fame.
Yet when time was ripe he started his quest, to rid the land of tyrant so obsessed.

From town to town he went, showing the people their torment,
Denouncing the crimes of the crown, his fame like fire spread all around.
Followers his cause gained, their respect and admiration obtained,
By one so humble yet proud, one who touched the hearts of the crowd.

Messengers he named and away they were sent, to spread the news of the hero they went,
News of life, news of freedom renewed, news that no person should exclude.
They summoned the brave and the bold, summoned they for whom fate would unfold.
A revolt he planned, to face the king he meant, on freeing his people his will was bent.

Of this the malevolent king learnt, hate and fear on his soul burnt.
To kill the hero, to kill the hope, this only solution could his mind grope,
To destroy his memory, to stop his crusade, of this inciter and rebel became afraid.

His time was nigh, his doom at hand, yet fall he won’t without a last stand.
He summoned his forces, he summoned his spies, he summoned all bringers of demise.
The tyrant arose, the king now stood, to ride out and guide his army he would,
He marched out to battle, he marched out to fate, he went to destroy the target of his hate.

The people arose and the summons they heeded, a change of fate the desperately needed.
To the hero they went with arms in hands, their blood they offered to free their lands,
Peasants and farmers, soldiers and guards, of such a mighty army sing the bards.

On the field of the skull the met, two huge armies which bespoke of threat,
Threat of doom, threat of change, with a king barely sane on brink of derange,
Of truce and arrangements he cared not, in blind blood lust he was caught.

Utter silence fell on both crowds, in fear and hope they were shroud,
Fear of death, hope of life, yet all looking forward to strife.
The hero came to the front sword in hand, the army was his to command.
And as the drums of war began playing, hearts and souls began swaying.

The king’s horns of war first blew, into frenzy this his soldier’s threw,
Under a spell of blood, a king of gone mad, gone was the humanity they once had.
Demons of blood, fiends of gore they were, the witch king left no room to err,
An ancient shadow cast upon the host, and an evil transformation fell on most.

The hero this noticed as did his men, fear and doubt growing in them again.
Yet our hero this saw and acted fast, with a loud war cry he charged at last,
“Unto me brave men of Gwyer” he cried, “It is to a life of freedom that we ride!”

In no man’s land they loudly clashed, against the shields many a man smashed,
With cries of pain scores of men fell, for hours on end the victor impossible to tell.
Day and night, night and day, continuously the fought without dismay,
To give their lives they had come, and while having breath they would not succumb.

A fortnight if not more did the battle last, before the die seemed to be cast,
In favour of the king the tide went, rendering his selfish heart quite content.
Yet peace and glee he had not, for the hero had still not been caught.

Impatience at last swayed his heart, the ruling king charged with a start,
His fury was great with hunger and desire, no man or beast could stand his ire,
He cut through the ranks ever so swiftly, of only one foe his mind worried chiefly.

A deafening cry pierced the air, startling the hero, filling his host with despair,
They all parted giving way to the king, thus forming around both a fighting ring.
The king sitting tall upon his horse, glared in contempt at one so mighty,
He it was who of his fear has been the source, the one who slain would be so rightly.

“Prepare yourself, your bells have tolled! I am here for all to behold,
How beneath my might you succumb! Cry for mercy; your reaper has come!"
At the king’s words all around trembled, all battle ceased to see what this becomes,
The entire host in awe assembled, the only faint sound being that of the war drums.

Shrinking not but standing proud and tall, the hero cried this as to be heard by all,
“You threats are void as is your heart! Tremble I do not, neither do I fear!
The time has come for you to depart, your demise now draws quite near!”

“Then come and meet terror and death! Let this farce be over and done!
I shall see you draw your last breath, that all you efforts are undone!
Your ideals and dreams will now cease to be, and with it your band of rebellious scum!
The only king they’ll ever know is me, the only hope they shall ever have is none!”

“Your terror is over, the nightmare is done! The Night passed away, morning has come!
Slay me you might, destroy me is your will, but my ideals and dreams thou shall not kill!
To perish in battle might my fate, yet for your ruling the hour is all too late!”

“Cease your babbling you pestering fool! The full strength of my power you know not!
If you think that so far I have been cruel, I shall teach you better wisdom in this very spot!
Behold your demise, behold your downfall, behold the god who this people shall enthral!”

“You fashion yourself immortal, you fashion yourself undying,
I shall render you utterly mortal, wounded, prostrated and for death crying!
Cease this talk, cease this threat! To your reign I shall put an end!
Face me in battle, dismount and regret, for to Hades your soul I shall send!”

With those words said the hero took his stand, teasing the monarch with sword in hand.
The evil ruler believe his ears he could not, this insect had cursed him in front of the lot!
A challenge had been cast by one so daring, decline it he could not, for that would be erring
Rising to the challenge dismount he did, already laughing while his own fear he hid.

“So the deer defies the wolf’s might, the prey believes he can win the struggle.
Come now; you shall die before this knight, you shall lie in your own blood’s puddle!”
Rising high and standing tall, this sovereign king was amazing to behold.

As one they both charged to the battle, their footsteps silencing all other rattle.
Loudly their swords clashed in the field, their postures perfect, none would yield.
Like distant thunder they sounded, and as bright lightning they seemed,
The host was now confounded, how come their swords so gleamed.

The king clad in full black plate, was quite a sight to behold,
He looked liked a god of hate, like one of the demons of old.
His sword red as his ire, it gleamed as if alight with fire.

The hero clad in silver armour, shone quite bright in contrast,
His very presence seemed like glamour, the difference being quite so vast.
Shield raised high and sword in the ready, he seemed the victor already.

Nigh an hour the fiercely fought, of the other’s demise they only thought.
With waning strength, tired and bleeding, now the hero seemed to be succeeding!
Yet the betraying king lose would not, with a raised had a spell he shot,
“Weak cur ‘tis you I spurn! Now feel, hell flame’s burn!”

Crimson flames sprouting on his body, his spirit already beginning to disembody,
The hero shouted falling on his knees, as he allowed his body his spirit to release;
“Soldiers do not despair, but rather for victory you must prepare!
My sacrifice shall set you free tonight, fight and bring victory to this holy knight!”

With that his body shattered, his spirit over the entire host was scattered,
Renewed strength and power they gained, what had happened they could not explain.
Yet upon that terrible sight, they heartened and at once fiercely renewed their fight.

The king what happened knew not, how had his victory been robbed at the spot?
From where did the peasants such vigour claimed, such power by him could not be named.
His dark powers now were of no avail, his kingdom for long would not prevail.
As a growing vast tide on him they fell, try as he might, he could only yell.

On that day his evil reign was overthrown, and to the people now belongs his throne.
The monarch died yet was not utterly defeated, his power all but depleted.
His evil spirit lingers still, using his power to bring on us ill.

It bears memories of old, it bears doom to all.
A red sun rises today again, A red sun that despairs all men,
Memories of carnage and gore, memories forgotten nevermore.

Ravaging all who stand oppose, vicious fiends, enmities of old,
Demons who summon all woes, spirits of horrors untold.
Yet a hero must arise, a with him hope make anew
The hero who in us resides, the hero who is always true.

Him who defies carnage and gore, and is spoken of in ancient lore,
Him who death can not keep, and who comforts all those who weep.
He is the one who rallies you to his side, the one who in you wants to abide.
Make your stand, forget the past, your true hero and saviour has arrived at last.

So cast away all doubt, and in joy begin to shout,
For the drums of war fall silent, and with it all who are violent.
So make a stand, and make no move, for your life is about to improve.

Drums of War

A rumble far and away, a rumble that sounds astray,
It bears memories of old, it bears doom to all.
A red sun rises today again, A red sun that despairs all men,
Memories of carnage and gore, memories forgotten nevermore.

A rumble sounds again, this time closer, closer to the end,
A rumble that bears honour and courage, that defies terror and death,
A rumble that instils strength beyond all pledge, leaving men bereft of their breath.

The Drums of War are thundering, and with them battle is looming in,
Cower you can not, since fate misses naught.
This battle has to be met, a battle from which you won't be kept.

Ravaging all who stand oppose, vicious fiends, enmities of old,
Demons who summon all woes, spirits of horrors untold.
Yet a hero must arise, a with him hope make anew
The hero who in us resides, the hero who is always true.

Him who defies carnage and gore, and is spoken of in ancient lore,
Him who death can not keep, and who comforts all those who weep.
He is the one who rallies you to his side, the one who in you wants to abide.
Make your stand, forget the past, your true hero and saviour has arrived at last.

So cast away all doubt, and in joy begin to shout,
For the drums of war fall silent, and with it all who are violent.
So make a stand, and make no move, for your life is about to improve.

A Visage of Glamour

Most likely, as well as hopefully, the term glamour is not one to be associated with this blog (since my purpose is to create a haven for my thoughts and personality and glamour has no place in either of them though I do possess quite the taste for good fashion), yet this entry is a must. Yesterday I helped my wife -with the help of Antu- conceive her own blog, a project with which she has been daydreaming for quite some time now. Being my wife the fashionista (in the good sense of the word if there is any) she is her blog is to deal solely on fashion; from fashion reviews to comments on new trends and such. If you enjoy fashion, good dressing or any of the etiquette that society imposes on us all, then please do drop by her Fashion Mirage and refresh yourself a tad before continuing on your journey through the desert of bad taste which surrounds us daily (do keep in mind that the blog was created yesterday so do not expect a great quantity of content yet, though you can always expect great quality in it).



Just a final word of caution; the blog is in Spanish since my wife knows little to no English at all.

Awakening

A sudden surge of pain ran across his battered body. Just opening his eyes sent daggers of pain through his brain so he kept them closed; not that opening them would be of any good since when he did, all he could see was a blurry shine with no distinctive form nor movement which enveloped his entire sight. He tried to speak, and couldn’t; tried to move, and couldn’t. He felt as if nothing else existed, not a world nor a body. He felt as a spirit lingering a space of bright nothingness.

How long had he been lying here? Days? Months? Years? Eons? What was his name? What was he? The same answer applied to all those questions: I don’t know. A sudden surge of despair enveloped his psyche and urged him to struggle against this state. He opened his eyes again, tried to move, to talk, shout or scream, tried to breathe; all to no avail. He felt miserable, felt impotent, alone; he felt dead. He opened his eyes once more, and passed out from the pain.

How can you keep track of time when there is no such concept? How can one know about time and its definition if such a thing has never been real or known? Likewise, how can one know about movement, sight, odours, hearing or any other sense or ability for that matter if all of them are nonexistent? These questions in themselves gave him new hope, strength and resolve. If he could remember, think and miss those things surely, nay certainly, they were real. He had been able to perform them, and he would be to do so again.

Images began appearing in his mind view. He had not opened his eyes, yet he was seeing something, feeling something. Flashes of a myriad of colours began succeeding each other. No specific order, no specific purpose; yet he saw them, and recalled their names. Red, Indigo, Green, Yellow, Blue and Purple, all in a continuous succession which slowly took the shape of a winding path, a tunnel with no visible beginning nor end, yet moving steadily forward. How was it that he not only saw colours but also recognized them by name? How, if it was in truth occurring, was he moving in any direction when, as far as he could recall he had never moved before.

After some thought, which was the only way to measure or reckon any span of time passage, he decided that he had to try and open his eyes again. He had been seeing colours for what could have easily been mere seconds or decades, so it occurred to him that maybe now that he actually recalled colours he could identify objects if he saw them with his real eyes. What came to him was both terrifying and yet glorious. No surge of pain, no needles in the brain, yet forms, clear and distinctive forms. He could not recall any of their names, so he had truly no idea what it was he was actually seeing, yet he saw!

Whatever it was that he saw, it was bright. The colours where a clear blue with patches or blotches of white here and there, and small green figures just on some borders, as if they were almost a frame. The blue stretch was gorgeous in an indescribable way. It seemed as if it was made of various shades of blue rather than just one, and they seemed to shift their brightness gradually. What was this heavenly vision? His eyes, though not hurt anymore, were still strained by the effort of opening them. He could not open them wide; it felt as if something forced him to close them a bit, as to avoid damage or to get a better vision, As if to regulate the input of colours.

All of the sudden, this something vanished, but so did some of the brightness in what he was seeing. He was able to open his eyes wider, yet his vision seemed to be somewhat dulled as the colours were not as potent. He also felt a slight difference in his body. His face and head seemed to be a bit more relaxed, yet the rest of his body felt a bit more stressed, as if enduring something on it. And as he pondered this new sensation, he came to the realization that he felt! He was feeling sensations assail his body, and not the entirety of it as with the pain he had felt before, but different sensations to different parts of his now new found body. He felt his head and neck cool, and his body a bit heated. He felt as another force, this one gentle and soothing, cooled the part of his body which was being heated, and chilled the one cooled. He also felt his back pressed against something soft, fresh and a bit moist. He began feeling his body in its entirety, began feeling every parts and every muscle; every bone and every sinew. He was a being.

Many questions now assailed his mind and all of them with no apparent answer. Was he the only being? What was this new found body for? Where was he? What was he? If he was the only being, then the last question would be a pointless one. Yet, if he wasn’t, then it was of utmost importance. If he was not alone, then was he safe? Where all other beings alike to himself?

As he lay there, trying to assimilate all of this which was happening to him, he felt something different in his face. It felt as if that part of his body was in unrest, as if there were small things in between his eyes which danced and moved making this area a bit sensitive and ticklish. It was a bothersome sensation, one that did not allow him to think clearly anymore and forced him to focus on it as solely it; and so he did. He began focusing on it, first to study this new sensation, then to analyze it, and finally, to fight it.

Suddenly, his arm raised and fell again with all its deadweight on his head, right in the middle of his eyes. This made the aforementioned sensation cease for the time being, but sent again pain rushing through his entire face. His eyes, which closed themselves on the moment his heavy hand landed on his face, where now covered in some type of fluid which made his vision blurry. He couldn’t see the blue cover in front of him with clarity anymore. Just opening his eyes became hard, and he felt something crawling down the side of his head. It felt a bit warm.

After this new found pain diminished, he was able to realize that he had moved. Moved! Not voluntarily still, yet moved. He discovered that not only was he a living being, but also one capable of movement. Yet, was it wilful movement? If he wanted to, would he be able to move once again? And would he be able to control this movement? He might be able to recall it again and move whenever he wanted to, but would he be able to control it? He determined that he would start with something smaller and thus probably much easier and with not so painful possible outcomes. He focused on his right side, and tried to feel every muscle. Once this was done, or at least he thought it was, he began focusing on what had moved before, his arm. This decision resulted from the logic that since it was this arm the first thing to move in his body, then it would follow that it would be easier to move it again. He focussed on this arm for sometime –again, if such a concept existed at all- and focussed on something within his arm, but smaller; namely, his hand.

Then it struck him, as he pondered on the issue concerning time, he realized that the cooling sensation which covered on his head at first had now extended as to cover all of his being. He did not feel he heat anymore, but felt cool in a progressive way. He also noted that the blue veil was no longer blue, but a very light violet. It seemed to be getting white darker as well. He forgot completely about his hand as he watched in awe how the light blue faded into a dark violet.

It was quite a breathtaking view. The sky, which just a moment ago was of a bright light blue, was changing hues slowly yet steadily. The entire spectrum was parading in front of his eyes, and he lay there, unmoving and uncaring of all, just taking in the wondrous show which was being displayed for him. Yet, as he watched, he also noted that seeing was getting quite more difficult. It seemed and felt as if light was fading, and darkness was creeping back on him. He despaired again believing that all the progress –if such a thing existed- he had made so far was being undone slowly, as if all the wonders he had seen and felt were but a dream from which he was slowly and painfully awakening. He felt powerless and immensely sad. His vision began getting blurry again as they watered, and he felt this liquid roll down the sides of his head. This was enough to make him stop and wonder upon the fact that although his vision was dwindling, he still felt in full force everything, from his body to the soft object pressing against his back. Just as he pondered this, he saw something that left his breathless. Right in front of his eyes, where the blue veil had been, the veil had turned to an almost complete black, yet, here and there, small white dots appeared. At first, just a few were to be seen, yet more and more became visible until he beheld an even more breathtaking view. The formerly blue mantle which now was entirely black was covered by many bright dots. Some twinkled, others seemed to change colours subtly and some shined with bigger intensity than others, yet they were all there. They shone a pale silverfish light on him, and for some time, he forgot about all else, even his own body, and allowed himself to be absorbed fully by the vast nothingness which now extended in front of him.

He lay there, unmoving as if death had claimed lordship over him again. He could see nothing but the white dotted black mantle. He cared for nothing else, and in his mind, these dots formed different shapes. What this shapes meant he did not have even the slightest idea, yet he could see them. He felt that this figures where a bit known to him, as if in some very distant past, maybe even another life or existence, he had not only known them, but could have also named them. They felt familiar, and this felt quite comforting.

Yet all of this faded, even his sense of awe, in face of what he began to see. Just in the border of his sight, close to his right yet a bit high in his vision range, he saw a faint glow, as if something quite unique approached slowly. It glowed with the same silver light that the dots did, yet this was stronger, more intense. He still could not see what it was that which emitted this glow, for all he could so far observe was a faint glow which seemed as an aura that surrounded a round object. As he beheld this new glow, he noted that, if such a thing was even possible, this new light did not brighten the velvety black mantle, yet made it even darker. It seemed as if this glow absorbed within itself all the dots, since around this silver aura, a black ring existed from which no light escaped. He beheld this new sight, and once again, forgot of all else.

As time crept by, he beheld how the aura moved more into the centre of his sight, accompanied by the black ring on the outer border, and followed by the object which seemed to emanate this glow. Never had he imagined such a thing possible. The white sphere which was surrounded by the glow, which now looked more like a crown, was such a sight as he never thought possible before. It was truly astonishing to observe this new sight, this new actor in the play which unfolded in front of his eyes. This magnificent sight caught and held captive his every thought and imagination. He once again gave in to the trancelike state from which he had been coming in and out.

Then it came to him. As he lay there, lost in the beauty of what he had been seeing, their name came to him. The spherical object in front of him, or better put, above him and in the centre of his vision was the moon, Earth’s only satellite; and the white dot’s where stars which shone in the black night sky. The black mantle was actually the sky, which was now black rather than blue since it was night time. He was beholding the black starry sky from some unknown location on Earth, and that was where he was; Earth. He remembered the white blotches against the blue daytime sky and recognized them as clouds, cumulous of water vapour and humidity which floated in the sky. The soft thing pressed against him was actually beneath him, and he was being pressed against it by gravity. It was grass and soil, and he green which framed his vision during the day were tree leaves which were what cast the shade over him which cooled him from the sun’s heat.

All of this knowledge came back into his head in a mere span of a second or two, and more would have as well if it weren’t for the fact that his mind could not hold so much information being recalled at once and so shut down. To put it in other words, he fainted.

Pain woke him up to a bright cloudy day. He remembered now that time was measured in seconds, minutes and hours. He knew that it was past midday, and the pain which awoke him was related to this, to noon. He had not eaten for now who knew how long, and his body yearned for that nourishment. For all that he knew, at least one day had gone by without him eating; most probably, two had. This left him with only three more days without eating for his body to give away. This again raised awareness of another fact, and a much more important one; he had not had anything to drink in the same span of days, and this fact left him with only one more day before his body gave away. He began focusing on his hand again, now with renewed intensity. If he was to survive, he had to be able to move in order to look for water and food.

He struggled against he numb feeling that held his body captive. He struggled against the despair rushing through his body and mind. He struggled, to no avail. Yet no mater the despair, the sudden urge to fight on, the sudden urge to live was enough to keep him focusing all his strength and will on moving that one finger. The unknowing state in which he was just days before now seemed nothing more than a strange dream. Now, fully aware and almost fully knowing –since he still could not recall his name or how he came to be in this situation- of his state and his surroundings, that constant sense of awe had departed and given way to the crude blandness of reality and the quite despair that came at the realization of one’s death. Yet, he struggled.

A new pained now began creeping over his body, the pain of skin exposed to the midday sun with no protection. How many hours had gone by? One? Two? Most probably two and a half, and considering the fact that he had already been lying there for at east two days, his skin was quite beyond the point of a mere sunburn. He had also noted an acrid smell in the air, one that raided his sense of smell and left place for no other smell. Also, he had a bit of trouble breathing, a fact that a first had found a bit strange, but as he focused on moving his finger he realized why this was. On the day before he had moved his entire arm in an urge to stop a bothersome itch on his nose. This had as an effect the raising and clumsy dropping of his hand on his face thus breaking his nose. This added to his worries, since if he was in a forest of some sort, then surely predatory animals had to inhabit it; animals that would feel attracted to the smell of blood and the sight of a helpless prey.

He had already managed to move his finger, yet in jerky clumsy movements that he could not control really. This was already quite an advance, but he needed to be able to control his body lest he break something else again. He knew that him not having eaten anything also contributed to the poor control over his muscles and their weaken state, yet he knew that even so, he had to be able to move enough as to at least crawl as to not die in this unknown location.

The sun was now already outside his vision range, which meant that it must be past three o’clock, probably close to four o’clock. He was now able to move his hand, all fingers and his wrist at will and with wilful movements, though still jerky and clumsy. Nevertheless, it was enough as for him to start focusing on his left arm. He tried moving hi finger and found that this time it was a bit easier. The movements were not wilful or precise, but he could nonetheless move them at will, and the same applied to his wrist. Yet, when he tried to move his arm a sharp pain stung him and blinded him for a second or two. This new pain disoriented him a bit and left him out of breath. He had a slight idea of what the pain might me, but hoped that it would not be so, hoped that his arm was not broken.

The only way to find out was to be able to move his neck and torso, maybe even sit upright. He tried to sit up using his right arm, and was assaulted again by the same blinding pain, only that this time it came from his torso. Was his body indeed battered? He knew from the pain that his ribs were broken, or at least -and this he hoped more than anything else- only one was. The odds were looking worse and worse, and he had half a mind to just surrender and give in to the warm embrace of death. He knew that if he went one more day with no water he would start having hallucinations. At least if this was so, he would go with a bit of hope, or in the worst case scenario possible, despair. Still, he would not give in, if he was to die, it would not be prostrated and defenceless. He struggled to move his head, at least to the sides since this would give him a better view of his location. He tried to raise his head, but was stung again in the ribs, yet he did not allow this to stop him and he continued, though with a bit more care. What he saw did not only appal him, but left him almost bereft of his sanity. His left arm was indeed broken, twisted at a strange angle just a bit above the elbow. His torso was covered in blood, and he could see at least two broken ribs, one of which had broken his skin and was protruding out, rising over the rest of his torso as a crimson pole. He also managed to see that his right leg lay as well on a strange angle. He dropped his head back on the ground and began sobbing and crying. What had happened to him as to leave him in this state? Who was he that this had to happen to him?

He turned his head sideways and was again shocked. The acrid smell he had smelled were corpses around him which had already started to rot. He could at least see three more, and none of them looked better than he did but quite worse. He turned his head to the other side and saw part of the cockpit of a small Cessna plane; and all came back to him.

He was a free lance pilot, hired by a group of tourists to fly them over the portion of the Colombian Amazon. They had taken off in order to fly around for a couple of hours, but something had gone amiss. First he had heard the heavily bearded man ask what the something he saw amid the trees was; then the woman in kaki shorts had screamed and almost instantly he felt something hit the small rental plane with an impressive force right in the middle of it. He felt the plane crack open in half and heard the faint scream of the woman, knowing that she had fallen from the plane. He had closed his eyes, felt the vertigo of the free fall, clutch the wheel tighter and given himself to God. He had felt the impact of what remained of the plane against the treetops, and nothing more.

He did not cry anymore, did not struggle; did not move. He simply closed his eyes again, prayed and surrendered his soul to God. He relaxed his breathing and began thinking about his family; about his wife and his daughter. He thought about his daughter’s coming birthday and the gift he had already bought. He thought about how the pastor had asked him to preach next Sunday and how glad he and his wife had felt, how proud their daughter had been. He thought about the life he had had and how he had no regrets. He thought about what awaited him, and felt warmth embrace him.

Slow Fade

The latest Casting Crowns video, from their "The Altar and the Door" album.

Be careful little eyes what you see
It's the second glance that ties your hands as darkness pulls the strings
Be careful little feet where you go
For it's the little feet behind you that are sure to follow

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade

Be careful little ears what you hear
When flattery leads to compromise, the end is always near
Be careful little lips what you say
For empty words and promises lead broken hearts astray

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day

The journey from your mind to your hands
Is shorter than you're thinking
Be careful if you think you stand
You just might be sinking

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
Daddies never crumble in a day
Families never crumble in a day

Oh be careful little eyes what see
Oh be careful little eyes what you see
For the Father up above is looking down in love
Oh be careful little eyes what you see

*Edit: I can not seem to erase the broken embeded video. Use the second one in case the first one does not load.

Days of Yore

The fire crackled, breaking the icy silence that had settled over the forest in a dark contrast to the lively chirping of birds and chanting of other animals during daytime. The trees loomed above us almost darkening the sky, yet the starry black mantle which covered the land made its way through trees and branches in a way that blotches of stars could be seen amidst the dense treetops. That only provided an even more suitable atmosphere for our bonfire, since, as it was accustomed, after everybody had eaten supper the bards would begin to recite and sing the odes and lays they had either learned or composed themselves which spoke of the days of yore. Better days they were as well, and each song brought renewed hope with it as it lifted our spirits while we heard tales of courage and nigh supernatural prowess. Tales such as the battle of Azal’aqent, the slaying of Hyrmtog the drake, the founding of our kingdom under the rule of Gertick the Just and other tales which have by now long been forgotten where not only common, but a must in every bonfire, in every settlement and wherever a bard abode.

The children’s eyes where wide open in amazement and expectation as the first bard made his way to the centre of the ring, produced some white powder from his pouch and cast it into the fire, making the flames crackle ever so loudly and dance with renewed ferocity. A simple enough effect, but still effective for it provided that extra ambience of mysticism needed in order to captivate and awaken the imagination of the folk. At once, the other bards began playing a generic rhythm as to provide with a better idea of tempo; and with a loud and clear voice the bard began reciting the first piece of the night’s repertoire: Azal’aqent. Children and adults alike dropped their jaws as they sat in open-mouthed awe, for this was not the ordinary ode which has survived up to our days, but the original and complete version in it’s full length and magnificence; a version that even in those days was almost unheard of, and to ever have the opportunity of hearing it was considered to be an immense privilege. So rare were the bards who knew it.

As if summoned by some unspoken spell, shadows drew closer to the circle as well as denser. If something lurked beyond the circle of light which ended a mere yard behind the man furthest from the fire it escaped our knowledge. The world faded and all ceased to exist; all but the score of travellers who sat around a common plain bonfire and hearkened the tales of yore with a child’s imagination. The bard kept reciting the ode and accompanied the stanzas with body gestures, and the musical score provided had shifted from a generic one to a specific unknown melody which flowed and intertwined itself with the poem. This was no ordinary bard, this was a true master storyteller; and even perhaps, as some of the men who witnessed the recital whispered afterwards, it was Freht himself who had returned from the land of spirits once more. So great was this man at his craft.

The bard continued for nigh an hour and thirty minutes before he concluded. His mastery was such that it took close to forty seconds for the men to respond and start cheering and clapping. Needless to say, the bard became quite popular and the invitations to drink of someone’s special ale reserve, or eat from the jerky supply of another man abounded that night. One man even offered his daughter in wedlock to the bard who, being of a true cast of gentlemen, of the sort which no longer roam the land, gently refused, saying that his life was not one to be shared by a woman since his bed was the floor and his roof the clouds.

The night continued in a similar fashion, though no bard could match the first one. Despite that, the men cheered and gasped as the tales came to a climatic cliff-hanger. Indeed, it was not until the night had grown old and many a child had fallen to deep slumber, with the inclusion of more than one man who had had a little to much ale to drink, did the folk start to move away from the bonfire. The night had ended for some, but not for the lookouts; yet despite the singing being over, not one soul that night slept dreamless, and all dreams where the same. For one night, for one moment, in a small camp lost in the middle of the northern woods, Azal’aqent had returned to the living and bestowed once again the hope and forlorn of the days of yore.

Pilgrimage

A green blur covered the fuzzy view only to be gone a mere second after, revealing a breathtaking landscape drenched in the morning's sunlight. Blinking lazily and rubbing my eyes as to clear my sleepy view, I forced myself upright and into full conciousness as I continued to gaze in between blinks and teary eyes at the wondrous blue mountains in the far horizon. though the train I was in was almost six kilometres away from them, their white peaks could still be distinguished glinting the faint sunlight of dawn.

Being now fully awake from the previous night's sleep, I could appreciate all the better the view, which seen through the window frames of my wagon seemed to be a masterpiece worthy of one of the great masters of Renaissance. An orange hue, which diminished gradually yet steadily drenched the grass which was barely covered by a gentle mist, remnants of the fallen dew. A lake in the centre of the landscape, probably a good half a kilometre away, glinted gold as it bathed in
the much needed warmth of the winter's sun.

A green blur covered the view as bushes and undergrowth, all too near to the train tracks, sped by again.

"Good morning," said the soft and delicate voice of my wife, "how did you sleep?"

"Good morning, and good," was my reply, which came in the manner of a hoarse whisper as all morning's first spoken words tend to do. "Any idea of where we are?"

"Not really," came the gentle reply as she poured and handed me a cup of hot tea from our thermus "But we ought to be close. Arrival time was estimated to be seven thirty and that's five minutes from now."

I simply nodded as I sipped the steamy tea. Just holding the cup with both hands sent a comfortable warmth through both my arms and into my chest. It was January, which meant summer back home, yet not here. Not that it was ever important since it was said that even summer tended to be cold here up north.

"I had a funny dream," I began as I held the cup with one hand and reached for the cookie my wife offered me with the other.

"Is that so?"

"yes. I dreamt about him again, yet not in the same manner as I normally do. This time he presented himself much calmer and with a much sober attitude towards life. He didn't accuse for a change, on the contrary, he simply stood there, nodding as he looked at me."

"Well, that's good right?" She asked rather hopefully.

"I can't tell, but let's hope so." Was the sullen response she got, and then we both drifted into silence and thought once more.

It wasn't easy, not by the least, but this pilgrimage was something we had both accepted; a promise which should be kept no matter the cost.

The sudden change in speed and faint hints of human presence in the landscape told us that we had arrived at last.

"We're here." I said as I got on my feet and began collecting our bags.

"Yes, and let's hurry this time," she answered back with a hint of dread lingering on the edge of her voice,"cemeteries are among my least enjoyable places."

Azal'aqent

Praise and sing lays for our wondrous knight,
Who but in a few days has once more proven his might.
Fearlessly he stood and peril he faced,
Defeated the evil brood leaving all amazed.
They who haunted our lifes and brought dangers to our dreams,
Were brought down in their hives and stopped short of their means.
Against our kingdom they plotted, beings of pure evil they were,
On our fields they trotted, marching to slay our throne's heir.
Yet our hero to the arms call arose and in shiny armour out he rode,
On the field he met many a foe, thus it is for him we sing this ode.
So praise and sing lays for from peril we've been delivered,
And rejoice for all days, for our enemy's been defeated.
So praise and sing lays for this hero who was god sent,
And remember for all days, his name which is Azal'aqent.

This is an attempt, and a rather sad one I would add, to write prose in the same manner as that of Beowulf or Sir Gawain and the Green Knight; it was, in fact, written shortly after reading both literary pieces. It has many flaws since my priority while writing it was to keep the rhyme working and so didn't not actually pay any attention to plot nor overall sense (as can be well perceived by the awkward choice for the hero's name) . Still, I would like to share it why you in hopes of receiving useful feedback as to ensure that further attempts at writing prose prove to be more successful than this one.

Lethargy

No excuses, just a deep, sincere apology. After a good solid vacation away from the internet I have returned once more. I have awoken from my writer's lethargy and will resume posting regularly.

Thank you all for your patience and faithfulness.

Absence

I have been a bit irresponsible with this blog lately, I am quite aware of that, since it is about to be almost a month since my last entry was written. To blame are my college studies, since I have been having final exams (which I finished yesterday) and work, since I have been more busy than ordinary this last month or so. Despite this, I know this not to be an excuse so I promise to update more often, especially now that vacations is starting.

In any case, if you would like to follow my writings and doings more closely, I have been quite active lately in the Juegos Online forums. Simply search for the user Elessar and you would have found my whereabouts. Be warned though that the forums are in Spanish and deal mostly (yet not solely) on videogames.

For now it is time for another farewell which, I promise, shall be shorter than the last one.

Farewell.