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Red Snow: Chapter One"Oy, Breen bet thou art too scared to walk to the old tower in the ruins and pull the bell thirteen times at midnight like the legend says happened."
"What do you bet, Aren?"
"I bet my knife, against yours , doest thou accept?"
And so Breen had taken the stupidist dare ever. That night accompanied by his best friend Aren, he made his way to the bell tower. Snow begain to fall, and Breen felt as if he were watched. The eyes of all those slain seemed to peer at him from the dark. They tread carefully as if worried they'd wake the dead. Creeping up the tower stairs Breen heard something, it sounded like the pigions in the bell tower back home, but bigger. He gathered his courage and pulled the rope. Once, twice, until he had sounded it thriteen times.
"Hah, now you owe me your knife, Aren. ....Aren?"
Red snow: PrologueSnow fell thickly that fateful night. The church bell tolled the midnight hour and then once more signaling the beginning... of the end...
The white snow had been painted red that day, oh so many years ago, now. Entire villages lost, burned, but according to lore, in the ruins at the edge of the forest of night, the bell tower still stands, and in that tower is the sole survivor of that massacre.
GaiaLike the arms of my mother
the forest surrounds me
I am hidden
snug within her green sleeves
Though her moods are the weather,
her love is all I can see,
I sleep in
my soft bed of leaves.
Dreams in the RainSleep, rain is falling
softly, slipping down through dreams
water for the mind...
and food for thought that
tantalizes the soul, hints
at things yet to be...
are paths not yet chosen and
the dreams not yet dreamt.
Directions of a WandererWhere ever the wind doth blow
lead me, take me,
I will go...
Right of left and Left of right
onward and upward,
into the night...
Conventions thou shalt leave behind thee
so doest thou dares'
HiddenI put my hand to the wall
and years of dust came off
when I took my hand away,
revealing the beauty within,
a sparkling jewel of color in a world of gray,
people hurrying on with their day,
their unending, forever flowing, list of things to do,
I stood apart from the flood of humanity
and reveled in the secret garden I had found,
where memories soared like so many beautiful
colorful winged creatures,
I opened the door and left the world
of never-ceasing schedules, of stagnant
gray pools, pretending to progress, but never
changing so much like clock-work,
I walked down the halls of my
secret garden, brushing free the
beauty of the unpredictable and basking
in the light pouring from the
colors surrounding me,
stopping only to chase butterflies
made of memory, melodies
until someone opened the door
and caused reality to come and drag me away
and weave me back into the gray tapestry of routine,
I await my chance to break free
and run back to my hidden paradise
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