fantasy

The City of Glass

Chris Mumford

City of Glass pt.1

 

There is a city in the heart of Hiladhell,

Constructed solely of glass;

No wood or stick, or masons brick,

Nor decorations of brass;

 

Imposing structures bore crystal-esque design,

Ancient structures, affected not by time;

 

Transparent and free,

Is our fine ci-tee;

For we can see you,

And they all can me;

 

The suns reflection boasts a blinding white light,

Directed to the towns square;

A beautiful center with plentiful feasts,

And maidens both kind and fair;

 

And safe is this city, as safe as can be,

Free from all violence and robbery;

But what is the price - we shall soon see,

In the city of glass as safe as can be;

 

None shall pass with secret intention,

Through the city of glass;

None shall walk with hidden direction,

Even if silently they pass;

 

Through the ages travellers have told tales of terror,

Which have taken place in the city of glass;

Stories of hell - rising up,

Of evil emerging from the neighboring mountains pass;

 

But I can say, that the time I have spent here,

Has been different than that described in these tales;

Quite lovely and peaceful, all its people quite equal,

Down to the smallest details;

 

 

 

 

Its ruler is kind,

His right to rule, blessed by divines;

We call him our master,

For him, the morning sun shines;

 

From Master we gather,

All things that we need;

He frees us from the burdens,

Of our natural greed;

 

I need not be jealous of things my neighbor has,

Things are most fair here, in the City of Glass;

 

And were all quite happy here, in the City of Glass,

Just ask of any citizen, that you are likely pass;

 

For if you seek no troubles,

No troubles seek you;

For this city is a family,

Agitators wont do;

 

But there is man in the city of glass,

Who I’ll have you know skipped middays mass;

This is a message to any who may have seen him,

Come forward at-once or your fate to shall be-grim;

 

 

To be continued….

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Dream World

It's how low you go and how high you fly.

It's where the sun shine's grey.

But if you let it die. Just let your pain subside...

You begin to lift away...

. . .

In this dream world...

We make sense out of everything that's grey.

In this dream world...

I smile at all my friends...Which is everyone.

In this dream world...

I'm a rolling stone and the wind still blows.

In this dream world...

All I can say is: "I hope to see you someday!".

 

A passerby'er, maybe a liar, a thief.

Oh, you only steal what you need, love.

No rage on the road, no hate in your home.

You always have what you need

so just rest in peace...

 

I only have one reason

Just one reason.

It's love.

Love.

 

 

 

 

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Maiden Fae


 

In the dazzling shimmers from magical dust,

journey begins on silvery wings of light

Conjuring four winds to the palms of her hands,

in showering cascade - the maiden takes flight

 

Across the sky - trailing wisps like sheerest veil,

donned in kind, with sequins made from winter's shine

Past reaches of earth, into celestial night,

vision ascends by awing-wonder's design

 

With stars twinkling in eyes, and red lips of rose,

whims of fanciful fair so merrily strewn

A kiss to share upon fleeting whoosh of breath,

blown heartened glow as witnessed on cratered moon

 

Come dawn 'till shadows -- looming in late of eve,

flourishing meadows served by enchantment's air

From over the realm, filled with mystical dreams,

blossoms soon to follow with Fae's heedful care

 

Capturing rainbows, to brighten flower's hues,

greener shades for grasses, waving in the sun

on the will of a whisper -- summoned to touch,

thoughts of Eden transcends - and her work is done

 

In the dazzling shimmers,

the journey begins

Conjuring four winds,

the maiden brings her light

 

© C.E.Vance

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just another handful of words, and nothing more.

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Dream Girl

I wonder what it would feel like,

with a lover's heart beating against mine,

the natural sweetness of the oils in her hair,

her hand, perhaps with one scar or another

and chipped nail paint--touching my cheek,

and her breath alive and endearing

with warm air, petite lungs breathing easily,

and maybe with a reflexive glance upward to me

flashing brilliantly beautiful

in a brief moment of thoughtlessness where the reality is

she's surrendered her very being

without intending to and without regret,

for she feels safe enough not to hold her heart

in her own hands, and I safe enough

to let her hold mine, and I tell her

that I've known no greater joy than to give her

everything I am.

 

It must be so much more beautiful

than wrapping my fingers around the hand of a fantasy,

which in my desperate grip crumples

like the paper on which I drafted

 

her every perfect detail.

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My Sweet Imagination

Outside of your apartment window

the leaves have fallen and it grows colder

still and I can't feel my fingers.

Inside you look so warm. A good candle is burning

steady and I imagine that cookies are in the oven.

I'd beg you once again to let me in, but I know

you've turned me away enough times

that I can be sure your heart doesn't secretly want

mine.

As the numbness creeps up my arms

and into the corners of my vision,

as my pulse slows and your face

glows in the light of your phone

in a delightful conversation you must be having,

I lift myself from my knees

and in the indentations left on the ground,

I leave behind the part of me

that wanted you

more than I wanted

 to live.  

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The wind howls red

 

 

 

Fingers frozen, jacket tight, the merlot leaves taking flight

Foot steps long ,quick in pace, better hurry home, you are not alone

The wind howls red, the chill runs deep, you should be in bed, to Grandmas keep

The bramble cottage comes in sight, everyones sleeping, there is no light

You skip closer, just a little more, oblivious to the danger lurking beyond the door.

 
C.Grainger

THE MAN IN THE MOON

When my son, Bryan was young a question he had...concerned the moon up above and made him sad.

 

He wanted me not to think him dull...but he loved the moon when it was full

 

And though for years his problem went unspoken...one day he asked, “Why does the moon get broken?

 

“I’ve seen it,” he said, “many times at night...and noticed something is not quite right.

 

The moon starts out so round and gay...but then it slowly fades away.

 

At times I’d like to get some tape...and put the moon back into shape.

 

When the moon is gone, Dad can you explain...what makes it come back full again?”

 

“Don’t worry son,” I said, “don’t feel perplexed...this I know, the moon’s not hexed.

 

Yes, once a month the moon is full...and the world enjoys it’s brilliant glow.

 

Then gradually it becomes less round..because the moon’s battery is running down.

 

The man in the moon doesn’t mope or pout...he waits patiently till the moon’s light goes out.

 

Then he retrieves from his pants pocket...a large new bulb for the moon’s light socket.

 

He screws it in and there you are...the moon again is a shining star.”

 

Oh what a different tale I could have spun...of the changing positions of the Earth, moon and sun

 

I could have told him that the moon he sees...changes relative to his geometries.

 

But I knew at his age the best translation...was one spiced up with imagination

 

For I knew he would be growing up soon...so I told him the story of the man in the moon.

 

Now whenI look up at the moon a thought occurs... I wonder which description he prefers.

 

 

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The Melancholy of a Bodyguard

1

When she walks into a room, all is silent.

Poised with aplomb, no one is ever violent.

Classy is her adept style, she’s set to rule.

Be I her earth, always her eternal tool.

 

Her aspects of a princess, looks smooth like water.

Her words are true, known to have stopped a slaughter.

Clothed in pleasing robes of silk, she has it all.

Eternal bliss, an angel sent from heaven’s hall.

 

Her red lips arouse firm lust, my mouth turns dry.

Her wise bright eyes, shining like a fair blue sky.

Like a time lord’s solitude, her mind wanders.

Embracing fate, her clipped wings...she needless ponders.

 

Gentle are her chosen words, finer than mine.

Drunk when she laughs, her grin tastes like a cool wine.

She’s the saviour of many, none oppose her.

Contrast us both, I am but a lowly cur.

 

Be still my heart, if only for a second.

So I can ponder my fate, my soul I reckon.

Damned I shall be, for the feelings I hold dear.

LEAVE FLEE DEPART! For now you must disappear...

 

Feelings of love, sorrow, joy, they have no place.

The devil toys, with feelings that cannot erase.

If God were to rub me clean, I’d be left scarred.

To be her guard...

Is my love truly this barred?

 

Forever am I bound, by law, by curse?

Bulk my bias, would just make her vigour worse.

She is breath to all who gaze, I am her foil.

Nevertheless, I love and therefore must toil.

 

Thus, this princess I do love, my heart doth beat!

Stout misery, her scent is pang bittersweet.

When I look into those eyes, it pains me so.

She is my life, and that is all I know.

She is perfect, sadly, that is my woe...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem of the internal turmoil which arises from one living a life of servitude.

The Pegasaur

The old hunter stared wearily at the magnificent creature in front of him.  He couldn’t believe that he had managed to capture this unknown creature with his horribly put together dragon trap.  He wondered if his wife would awaken him with her sickly coughs and moans soon.  But, surely, this could not be a dream, for who could ever imagine such a creature?

            He gazed at the creature as the sun glinted off the brilliant silver scales decorating its spines, hind legs, and tail.  Catching his eyes were the silver and gold feathers lining the beasts wings, leaving silver hair resting over the horse-like appearance of the head and chest.  The eyes of the creature remained open as the hunter, waiting patiently for the rest of his clan to arrive, studied him.  The creature’s eyes were glittering gold and marked with intelligence.  No, this could not be a dream.  Never before had a creature of this sort been seen and never could it have been imagined.

            Acknowledging that this was indeed happening, the old hunter smiled with glee.  He wouldn’t be the joke of the clan anymore.  When he was a younger man, he was praised for the fine catches he would make.  Every other day it seemed that creatures in the wood would just happily run into his trap.  Whether it was a fire fox or a vegetable lamb, the hunter was able to catch it.  As he became older and older and procured more injuries on the hunting trips, he seemed to lose his grip on hunting.  Once he was the greatest hunter in the land and now he was the joke of the clan, not being able to catch a mere snow squirrel in the middle of July.  The old hunter was delighted that this was not a dream.  He lifted his head as the breeze from the west moved his long, scraggly hair and gently stirred the leaves.  He looked up into the sky, noticing the position of the sun.

            A quarter of the way up, they should be here soon, he thought to himself.

            The clouds were gently drifting by.  The birds were…  No, they weren’t chirping.  The sound of the forest creature’s…  No, there was no sound.  Apart from the sound of the wind, the forest was dreadfully silent.  The quietness was unsettling.  The old man had never experienced such a silence in the forest usually in abundance of sound and he was anxious to get out of there as soon as possible, away from the unbearable silence with the unknown cause.  The hunter started to pace as he waited for the other hunters to arrive.

            The beast just lay there, caught in the dragon trap, with what looked like … Compassion in its magnificent eyes.

            Where are they?  He pondered mere seconds before the rustling in the undergrowth gave way to the band of hunters.

            “’Bout time you got here!  I only was waitin’ for nearly two hours in this godforsaken clearing.  It’s this damned silence; it’s unsettlin’!”  He blabbed on and on as the rest of the hunters captured their first look of the creature before them.

            “Looks beautiful!”

            “I wonder if that’s real silver on ‘im?”

            “Do you think we could pass it off as dragon meat?”

            “The feathers would sell at market.”

            The hunters were discussing incessantly about the gains they would make from this perfect catch.  All the while, the old hunter stood there, watching the creature who probably could have escaped from his pitiful attempt at a trap.  As the old hunter thought this, the creature blinked as a single tear dropped to the ground, one single silver tear.  The ground shook suddenly as the teardrop was absorbed into the ground.  Only the old hunter seemed to notice that upon the ground the teardrop fell, the flowers seemed to get brighter and denser, the grass seemed to become greener.  How could he let them kill this creature that they knew nothing of, this beautiful enigma of a being?

            “Earthquake!”  cried one of the hunters.

            “Let’s just kill it now before something else comes along to kill us!” proclaimed another.

            “Why do we haf’tuh- kill the creature?  We don’t even know what it is!” asked the old hunter as he hobbled up past the other hunters and towards the creature.

            “That’s what we do,” asserted the chief, “We hunt, we capture, we kill, we profit.  Who cares what the thing is as long as it’s worth somethin’!”

            “But why?  Is that the only purpose of us existin’?  Surely there’s more t’life than this, destroying an innocent that we know nothin’ of?  How do we even know if it’s not poisonous?”

            “It is what it is and we’ll soon find out.  Now stand back,” the chief ordered as the other hunters murmured their approval.  The old hunter stayed where he was, finally realizing that what he had been doing for more than 50 years of his life wasn’t for survival, but for sport and gain.  If only his ailing wife could see him now, she would be proud.  “Move, old man.”  The chief pushed him into the other hunters as he walked toward the creature, “Hold ‘im back.”

As the old hunter stared on, dreading the death of this innocent creature, the beast raised its head and looked straight into his eyes.  The creature’s eyes now held a look of both pure joy and sorrow, waiting for the next moment to finally happen.

            Confused and frightened by the creatures’ act, the chief drew his sword and stabbed the beast in the heart.  Not a sound was heard throughout the forest as the beast laid his head back on the ground, dying.  It was as if the whole forest was mourning the capture and death of the beautiful creature.  But wait, looking at the creature the hunters realized that something peculiar was happening.  It was melting!  The hunters stared in astonishment, at what would have been the hunter’s greatest catch, as it melted to a sticky silver substance that proceeded to sink into the ground.  A small rumble shook the ground yet again.

            “What is this sorcery?  Let’s  leave this godsforsaken place!” cried their leader.

            All of the hunters, save one, left the clearing and traveled with angry hearts at the loss of their prey.  The original, old hunter stayed in the clearing, staring at the spot the beast had been laying.  A third rumble stirred the ground and in the blink of an eye four creatures, similar to the previously captured one apart from their colors and smaller sizes, materialized before his eyes.  It was as if they came directly from the ground.  Oh, the surprise he felt as one of those magnificent creatures approached him.  From the mouth of the green-feathered creature before him, a vial dropped at his feet with what looked to be the tear of the beast they had so callously murdered in greed.  Scared to move, the old hunter waited until the creatures had flown from the clearing before picking up the vial.  Upon closer examination, the hunter realized that there was an inscription on the cork.  The only word he could make out was “Heal.”  This was surely a gift from the gods.

 

            The old man immediately knew that the gods favored the creature he had caught.  Although they had killed the innocent being, its death had allowed four new creatures to be born and now his wife might finally be healed from her cursed illness.  He had shown compassion toward the creature and had experienced a change of heart, deserving, in the creatures eyes, the wonderful gift of its healing tears.  As he backed out of the clearing, he gave a silent prayer of thanks to the gods.

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