The gray of stone, and green of moss.
Arches high and low. The forest where it lingers near,
and rivers where they flow. Once I dwelt as near
to them, as far I have now come. Yet though I’ve lived
here many years, my heart has not yet gone.
For I remember an isle in mist, and trees
that stretched so high. The moss it grew in banks
and hills, roving yon and nigh. The babble of brook
and forest scent, near brought me to my knees.
And now I wish that I had stayed; there among the trees.
For here I sit and reminisce, missing heart and soul,
an isle in Maine, surrounded by mist,
where I learned what my heart holds.
So I left off on Company of the Damned a while ago, and am just barely getting back to it.If you haven’t read it, you can find it here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3. The next scene isn’t ready yet, but this is a context piece I wrote while puzzling on the story, and in the grand fantasy tradition of making you read poetry by/about imaginary people, here it is:
With coats the shade o raven wings,
and hearts o powder black;
the sounds o sword and six gun sing,
the tones: scream, blast, hack.
The Company forever rides
and never do they tire;
behind, the orphans’ wails and cries
rise in a hellish choir.
A scourge, these killers do not hide;
their souls o smoke and fire.
– Wilhelmina Douglas, Poet Laureate of the Broken Union
Clouds on the mountains, winter winds
call me to distant lands.
The flash of snow and sky so blue
take me by the hand.
The holly bough, Solstice night
pull me far away,
to places strange:
another world, or some far distant day.