A Perfect Dream

19/01: You know where to find me

You know where to find me when you need me.
I'll be removing the seed from the shroud.
You know where to find me when you need me.
I'll be burying the acorn in the ground.

You know where to find me when you dream of me.
I'll be watering the seed with my affliction.
You know where to find me when you dream of me.
I'll be nourishing the acorn with the lesson learned.

You know where to find me when you miss me.
I'll be where I've always been.
You know where to find me when you miss me.
I'll be there waiting.

You know where to find me when you are ready.
When the seedling breaks free in spring.
You know where to find me when you are ready.
When the morning sun kisses the young sapling.

31/12: Secret Garden

"Welcome to the Secret Garden! Where all troubles will be forgotten; all wounds healed. When you step out of this sanctuary, it will be as a new, refreshed being..." He grinned.

He was a smallish green creature, with bulging eyes, a bulb of a nose and a wide devilish grin. I caught a glimpse of his tiny yellowish fangs again which he took no effort to conceal.

En savoir plus ...

07/06: The Song

I was going through my old blog, contemplating deletion. Finally decided to port some of the old stuff that meant more to me, over, before I do it. This was something I wrote last May, inspired by a dream of a loved one.

---

The Song

It was a solemn affair. Men and women, dressed in sombre shades, whispered in hushed tones. The common topic was, of course, the deceased. The questions hanging in the air ranged from the mysterious way he died, to the huge debts that he accumulated.

En savoir plus ...

25/03: Futility

He opened his eyes to find himself lying next to a great oak. The fresh scent of soil assaulted his senses. He realised that he was clothed in soil, with nothing underneath.

It was twilight. The time when shadows were longest, and vague. He sat up and groped around for the familiarity of his Lute. It was nowhere to be found.

A soft glow coming from within the Oak's girth caught his attention. He attempted in vain to part the shadows with his mortal hands, and peered at that faint light emanating from the heart of the Oak.

En savoir plus ...

10/12: The Next Generation - Part I

Fyonn MacAberwyn, Champion, from the Order of the Blue Rose, sat at the tavern nursing his mug of mead, waiting for his mentor, Cowfire Beefcake, Templar, Leader of the Order of Geylang Lorong 6.

He had been haunted by a dream.. The haunting sounds of the Lute coupled with the melancholic baritone voice still ring in his ears. It was months since this dream started...every night, he had the same dream... of Him. Aberwyn Sweetsong, Master Songster, High Priest to Bran, the Patron of Poetry and Songs. In the dream, he was always sitting under this huge oak, playing his lute, a pained expression on his face. There is a vague shadow moving within the huge trunk of the oak. threatening to spill out to engulf him.


En savoir plus ...

26/10: End

He caressed the worn runes on the Lute absently as he reflected on what has happened in the recent moons.

His face lined with weariness as the memories flashed across his vision. The shadow of a smile flashed for a second as he remembered her smile fondly. That one late night when they were standing in the rain, enjoying nature while the rest of the world was sleeping. His faced hardened as other memories flooded in, of the times when he tried to reach her, of the times when she shut herself out when she was hurting. His healing skills are useless when he couldn't heal one who did not want to heal, one who refused to be healed.

En savoir plus ...