Musings of a Nascent Poet

  But Tanschel's sword just struck with might

  And buried to the hilt.

  Traig tossed the body to the mass

  And waited without care.

  Let them come and bring his death,

  Those of them who dared!

  As he raised his bloody sword,

  A shadow came to view,

  With eyes of molten sadness and

  With hair on honeyed hue.

  The people seemed to be dismayed

  As broken was their spell

  By all the glinting magic of

  The shade that is Tanschel.

  Now, at last, they saw their "god",

  And murder filled their eyes;

  They tore the body of great Frace,

  The Serpent Prince of Lies.

  The vapored shadow turned to Traig,

  The shadow named Tanschel,

  And though her eyes were drenched with tears,

  She only said, "Farewell!"

  "No wait, Tanschel! Please do not go!"

  Traig's voice, a shuddered breath.

  There is no life without you, wench!"

  And followed her to death.

  Talk about taking an idea and running with it. Labyrinth, a movie I found mostly irksome because of the whiny female protagonist, managed to spawn my longest ever epic, largely because I found David Bowie's character interesting and, truthfully, nearly wasted. So, I "fixed" it. And, naturally, added romance. (Yes, I know he's a Goblin King in the movie - I don't care)

  Dreammaker

  He gazed up to the window

  As she sat upon the sill,

  And his heart kept beating faster

  For he couldn't keep it still.

  His eyes were old and wiser,

  Aged a century or more,

  And yet they glowed with passion

  For this maid of twenty-four.

  Her hair was black and lustrous,

  Floating free in ebon waves;

  Her eyes, they were as sapphires

  Only found in deepest caves;

  Her skin was milk and honey,

  Gold-tinged splendor, soft as down.

  He knew this, never touching,

  Just observing from the ground.

  Her body, fulsome, slender,

  Her face of graceful mold,

  Her lips so soft and tender,

  Red the red of cherries bold,

  Her laughter was of silver bells,

  But rarely did it ring;

  She knew so little happiness,

  So bored with everything.

  Her eyelids drooped with boredom;

  Her lips curved to a frown,

  And, in her very petulance,

  Her silver voice was drowned.

  "Oh, what a wretched life I lead

  With all to do my will,"

  And still he gazed in rapture

  At the princess on the sill.

  "A princess, I, with all I wish

  And yet I have no joy,

  With all the world the same dumb game

  And wealth a paltry toy.

  Adventure do I never know

  And who am I to blame

  That everyone obeys me

  And everything's the same?

  Why can't I have adventure?

  Why do they guard me so?

  Why do I care for nothing?

  That's what I would like to know.

  I'm smarter than our scholars,

  So I know I have a brain;

  I know that I am beautiful

  For I have a thousand swain;

  I know that I am wealthy for

  One day I shall be queen;

  I have imagination

  For I've seen such things in dreams!"

  She rose as if in wonder,

  And her eyes grew wide and light.

  He softly groaned and closed his eyes,

  Then, watched her from the night.

  "The dream," she said in dulcet tones,

  "Oh, he that stalks my sleep,

  With skin so pale, so frail, so fair,

  With eyes of green so deep,

  Those shoulders broad and awesome height,

  That strange attractive mane,

  That look of wild-thing in his eyes

  That no one ever tamed.

  For several nights, he's been there,

  And he taunts me as I dream,

  For everything he leads me to

  Is not as it would seem.

  He'd never give me all I ask;

  He teases with his life,

  Adventure I can never have

  For I must know no strife.

  Why do they always pamper me?

  Am I a china doll?

  Why are they always at my back

  Or at my beck and call?

  I wonder what they're thinking,

  Do they love me as they claim,

  Or do they think I'm foolish

  Or look on me with shame?

  I've heard so many suitors

  As they begged me for my hand.

  Do they all really love me . . .

  Or just my father's land?

  I wish that I could know this,

  Gaze inside their secret lives.

  I wish I knew adventure

  And how the poor survive,

  But, most of all, I'm wishing

  To confront the man of dreams,

  And prove that I can still prevail

  When all's not as it seems!

  But wishes are for foolish maids

  And I am not a fool.

  I am perhaps, an untried child,

  Or just my father's tool.

  Oh, dream man, save me from this fate!

  I need someone to fear.

  I need someone to make me think,

  To set me free from here.

  Oh, fight me, teach me, make me strong,

  Ignore my paltry will!

  I beg you, you who stalk my dreams."

  Then, left the windowsill.

  The Elven King stood far below

  And tears were in his eyes;

  They wandered down his pale white cheeks

  For his beloved's cries.

  "Oh, Larah, Larah, princess dear,

  How sad to know no pain!

  How sad to hear adventures bold

  And never see the same!

  For many nights I've touched your sleep

  For you are all I see,

  And how I'd hoped you'd love me too—

  If it could only be!

  How do you keep my heart in pain?

  In you, what does it prize?

  You're just a child, though lonely child,

  Who looks through azure eyes,

  But, beauty is not hard to find

  In those within my realm:

  My elves, who dress in magic gems

  And wisps of fairy film,

  Have bodies blessed with Nature's grace

  And hair with silky light,

  With eyes of slanted mystery

  And skin of clearest white.

  They sing with tones of highest sound

  No human could achieve . . .

  Why, while beauty there abounds,

  Can I find no reprieve?

  Why does their beauty stir me not,

  While yours will warm my soul?

  You cannot sing our magic notes,

  Yet your voice makes me whole.

  And I have nothing left, my love,

  For you have caught my heart,

  And, with your admiration,

  Have taken it apart.

  For you want to be my rival

  When I want you for my mate,

  But, perhaps, I can persuade you,

  Just perhaps, it's not too late.

  Just perhaps, I'll make you love me,

  If I help you to be free.

  Perhaps, you'll be a woman then,

  A woman loving me.

  I will show you
to adventure, dear,

  So dream of me tonight,

  For I shall lead you to the path . . . "

  He faded out of sight.

  She wakened in the morning

  And her eyes were bright with glee,

  With fear, with apprehension,

  With sweet anxiety.

  The man had touched her dream again

  And called to her by name

  And asked if she were brave enough

  To play a little game.

  He had, in his possession,

  A ring of magic ore

  That told the thoughts of those who spoke

  To one whose finger wore.

  Three days she has to gain this boon

  If she will be so brave,

  For if she loses, she is lost

  And she must be his slave.

  But, first, would she agree to this

  Most dangerous of bets,

  To risk her life and liberty

  And be the Elf-King's pet?

  How could she storm the citadel

  And steal the treasured ring?

  How could she beat the clever guile

  Of him, the Elven King?

  And, yet, those eyes, they beckoned her

  And she could but obey.

  Here was her chance to see the world

  And make, in it, her way.

  Three days, three days, she'd just three days

  To find King Jared's lair,

  To face the king with emerald eyes

  And strange and shaggy hair,

  Coarse and silky, black and white,

  The mane she longed to feel . . .

  But she cared only for the ring

  She vowed that she would steal.

  With stealthy tread and stolen garb,

  She fled the castle walls

  And wandered toward the verdant hills

  She felt hid Elven halls.

  The hours she spent to find them

  Taught her hunger, taught her pain,

  But she wouldn't let them slow her down

  For she must win the game!

  Just barely did she miss her death

  From poisons, beasts and more,

  Unknowing that the Elven King

  Had saved her times a score.

  He showed her with a hungry bird

  That berries dealt out death;

  'Twas he that tripped that angry boar

  And saved her by hair's breadth.

  And every time he saved her,

  Though she did some things herself,

  She learned another lesson,

  Not of splendor nor of wealth.

  Instead, she learned survival

  In her rival's fine-boned hands,

  And didn't know her teacher,

  Just the lesson understands.

  She thought that it was only luck;

  He hid beyond her sight.

  He didn't want his maid to think

  She had no chance to fight.

  She journeyed onward to the gate,

  The gate that was her goal,

  Goal that led to treasured ring

  Or life in his control.

  This gate was fast approaching

  And she hurried even more

  For the sun was close to setting

  And she wanted in before . . .

  Great Gods! How strange and fortunate!

  Why, open was the gate!

  How convenient, but too easy.

  'This game's a piece of cake.'

  She marched inside in triumph,

  Laughing at the paltry king

  Who couldn't stop her progress . . .

  She was sure to win the ring!

  And, then, he stood before her,

  Even greater than she'd dreamed.

  "How, child, do I teach you

  All is not as it would seem?"

  His voice just melted through her

  And she gazed into those eyes

  And longed to touch that shaggy hair

  That framed a face so wise,

  A face so finely-boned and pale,

  Yet beautiful and strong,

  His voice so smooth and elegant

  That made each word a song

  From lips that seemed to touch her heart,

  That promised her such bliss,

  For, as she gazed in wonderment,

  She longed to feel their kiss . . .

  She shook herself.

  What a fool to fall in reverie,

  To find yourself attracted to

  A man, your enemy!

  "You're game's a breeze!" she said in spite,

  To prove she felt him not.

  "Anyone could win your game,

  Such simple rules and plot."

  "A simple game, is it, my child?

  But you have yet to play.

  Perhaps you'd find a challenge

  If you found you'd lost a day.

  The gate's an empty conquest, child,

  Because it takes no skill,

  So, dear, you have no conquest

  For, here, the law's my will!"

  And as he spoke, there was a flash;

  The city was no more

  Or rather, she was far away,

  Again on forest floor.

  "That's not fair!" she shouted,

  "How dare you send me back!

  How can you be a victor

  If, of honor, you've a lack?"

  "Life is rarely fair and this

  You'd best ought not forget—

  A thief who barges to his take

  Deserves whate'er he gets.

  You strode so boldly to my keep

  And thought I'd not react?

  You cannot win this game unless

  You think before you act."

  "But you have all the power!"

  She shouted to his voice.

  "You know this contest isn't fair."

  "But, child, you had a choice!"

  "Do not call me child, you beast!

  How blind you cannot see

  My childhood's far behind me now."

  "You must prove that to me."

  And then the gentle voice was gone

  To let her scream in rage,

  Then plan, in fury, how to beat

  The King both strong and sage . . .

  Her dreams that night were different

  Than those she'd dreamed before:

  She stood within a ballroom,

  Stood alone upon the floor.

  The gown she wore was fairy silk

  And sown with fairy strand,

  A gown of sheerest gossamer

  Ne'er touched by human hands.

  Then, all at once, came faces

  That she saw—and yet did not,

  And she knew they planned to turn her

  From a goal she found she sought.

  She did not know for what she searched,

  This dream she had to find.

  She felt she sometimes glimpsed it,

  But she always fell behind.

  A shimmered splash of peacock blue,

  And eyes such fiery green

  That taunted, haunted, beckoned her

  While never being seen.

  There he was! Her heart would leap,

  The man behind the fan,

  But emerald-eyes had disappeared

  And left another man.

  Come back, please wait! Don't leave me here!

  How vainly did she call?

  She found herself alone again

  Inside a long white hall.

  The man, the king, she'd sought so long,

  He waited for her now,

  With long wild hair that loosely fell

  Upon his pallid brow.

  His eyes were dark, intriguing, but

  They shone with verdant flame.

  His arms, they opened up to her

  And she heard him call her name.

  "Larah, Princess Larah
, come,

  Come and take my hand,

  Rain upon my desert, love,

  And sweep away the sand.

  Come and I shall love you

  As no other has before.

  Come, my love, and dance with me."

  He gestured to floor.

  She took his hand; he held her,

  Whirled her round in graceful glide,

  Round the ballroom in his arms,

  With her dressed as a bride,

  But she saw nothing but his face,

  Too drowned within his eyes,

  Too warm within his circled arms

  To think of a disguise.

  They flew around the airy room

  And gazed as if entranced,

  While all his subjects stopped to watch

  And wonder as they danced.

  Then, slow, they danced, and slower,

  Close and closer still.

  Her blue eyes grew more lustrous

  As, with love, they seemed to fill.

  He closed his eyes in rapture—

  In torment. Was it real?

  Did Larah really love him

  Or did he make her feel?

  Perhaps he'd know her feelings

  If he touched her in a kiss,

  Would know if this was just a lie

  Or true eternal bliss.

  Lips met for just an instant—

  Then he tore out from the dream.

  The master of illusion . . .

  All is not as it would seem.

  He'd never had a dream before

  Or been caught in its grips

  Or known the awful pleasure of

  Not really touching lips.

  He'd known that it was fantasy,

  Her own that he devised

  And yet he'd yearned her just the same . . .

  Was he not old and wise?

  Why did he give this dream to her,

  One he could not escape?

  A dream that captured him, at last,

  Its power was so great.

  The kiss had made him know he dreamed—

  Her lips were just a lie.

  He did not want a forgery,

  An elf-made dreamy sigh.

  A tear coursed down that snowy cheek.

  He sat beside his love

  Who lay in slumber, soft and deep,

  That he had been part of.

  Those rosy lips called out to him

  But never made a sound;

  Those fragile arms were beckoning

  But never left the ground.

  He bent—his wondrous strength was gone—

  Too tempted, now, to stay,

  To keep from touching lips to lips,

  To keep himself away.

  He kissed her for an instant,

  Blissful instant 'til she woke.

  Their eyes met for a moment

  'Til he blew away as smoke,

  In mist, in magic memory,

  Or just a fantasy?

  Had she seen what had really been

  Or what she longed to see?

  "I'll waste no time in dreaming now,"

  She hurried on her way,

  Despite the fact she walked alone

  And it was hours from day.

  She stepped outside an orchard,

  So enchanted with the sight

  Of stands of tiny fairy trees

  That shone with fairy light.

  They grew as leaves the gleaming strands

  The elf-folk used for thread

  And each one glimmered rainbow light,

  Each fine as spider's web.

  And, all at once, a thought she had

  That grew into a plan.

  Perhaps the Elf-King had his charm,

  But, still she'd beat the man!

  The Elven King slept fitfully

  Inside his royal bed,

  Now plagued with dreams he'd never known

  That roared inside his head.

  They always come to Larah

  Who'd turn away in spite,

  Storm away in fury, or