Some creative works

[bluestar]

I thought I might post some of my previously published works to perhaps give a little inspiration to the forum. Most of these were done a while back but I'm sure some of the forum will vibe with them...



The Heart That Searches

One night my heart pulled me to a lonely glade on the top of a hill. In the shadows of a great tree I heard the crying of an old and heartbroken poet. Stopping at his side I sat down next to him and asked him, “what is so sad that makes a man bleed his heart’s final beats into emptiness?”

His world-weary eyes raised to meet my own and cast such a stare that my soul buckled with its heaviness. His whiskey-stained voice rasped as he held out a tear stained piece of paper in his scarred and wrinkled hand.

“This was to be the script of a boy who set sail upon the tide of his dreams and conquered the world’s pain with love and youthful passion. Now it is but a scribbled page, unfinished and dirty for the boy has returned a man, lost for words and full of painful memories. Now he faces death, fearing and ashamed, for he has done nothing but sit in the shadows of men preaching to the world from an empty bottle what it could have been, if only it had followed him but then he realised that the world had and that was its problem.”

Sobbing into my shoulder his voice broke, “I have travelled so far only to find I know so little. I am to leave a fool and a failure.”

With a comforting hand over his shoulder, I smiled. “You speak such ugliness in the presence of such beauty.”

His brow furrowed as he croaked in disbelief. “You speak of a beauty I see not; reveal its face so I may trace its lines with word in pen.”

“Then trace the lines of your own heart, the heart that searches, for its journey is the song on the lips of every living creature. Worry not, that your prose be unfinished because it is complete. Worry not, if your words are illegible or misspelled, these are words of your heart.

“Let every phrase glitter like the stars in the night sky and light the path of those who wander. Let the sailor set his course by the light you give him, and let your love steer him clear of the reefs and whirlpools that claim the unweary, for many will sail the ship of truth to foreign shore.

“Let your pain be an offering to those who wish to avoid heartache, expose your scars so that those who wish to be villainous rethink their values as to avoid the karmic whip. You have laid in the dirt so others who walked over you kept their feet clean. That is the love that cries on my shoulder this very moment, the very love that cares enough to think he has failed. Go my friend for there are arms waiting to embrace you; release your hold on sorrow and fly beyond pain.”

His head in my arms I watched death steal his fire with a stilling kiss and I closed my eyes and held his hand for I, too, knew the loneliness of sobriety.

[bluestar]

The Dawn Lovers

One night, at a village feast held in honour of his return, Seth the poet left silently into the dark night, leaving the loudness and drunken festivity behind him.

Watching him quietly disappear, his beloved childhood friend Alexandra followed him into the garden. She found him alone and sitting under the luminous moon. Sitting down beside him she took his hand. “Why do you sit out here alone?”
He looked into her eyes and smiled.

‘I sit by myself but never am I alone. Tonight I share the darkness with a bird whose cries echo throughout the valley and whose call beckons me to open my wings and fly with him. I sit by myself because who would sit with me and enjoy simple pleasures?”
“Not they,” as he pointed to the drunken and loud figures raising mugs behind them.

“You judge them harshly,” she frowned, “they are your friends and they celebrate your return.”

His face grew hard. “They celebrate themselves for themselves; I am but an excuse for their own debasement.”

Then his face softened as he explained. “They know not Love, only its pollution and those who don’t know Love cannot know Life. Those that don’t know Life cannot find Love, so they are friends to no one.”

“They would rather sing their drunken songs of ignorance than listen to the truth. They would rather glut their senses in the presence of themselves than break simple bread with a stranger.

“They would rather pass out on wine than battle sleep to watch the sun rise. They would always rather something for themselves.”

Alexandra sighed, “What you say may well be true but that is no reason for this self-imposed exile. There is no sense in your solitude. Join us back at the table.”

The Seth squeezed her hand. “Should you talk to me in reason then I will not answer because you cannot hear. Let us leave sense and its absurdities with the drunkards inside for they will tell you that they have it and that I am mad. Here under the moonlight I sit at a table of beauty, in there I sit with emptiness.”

He looked out into the night and whispered, “You say it is I who sits in solitude but I say take a look behind you. You will see who has cut off their connection to love and you will realise it is not I who is in exile and it is not I who am mad. It is they. They who mask their tears under a veil of drunkenness.”

Then she looked back behind her…

That night two childhood lovers wrapped in each other’s arms battled sleep to watch the sunrise.

[lemonique]

I love your writing Bluestar, thank-you! :)

[bluestar]

THE CALL

I must leave for I hear the song of destiny and know that she sings for me. Her gentle voice, more alluring then a sirens serenade, takes my soul and caresses my broken heart, drawing out such longing that it runs down my cheeks as tears when I am alone.

She speaks to me in my dreams and asks me to leave behind all selfishness and to throw off all learning for it is misconception and to go and stand naked in the sun.

Embarrassed, I hide but she understands I am timid and lifts me out of my darkness with the warmth of her smile. She tells me not to be ashamed of my nakedness for the vanity and pride that man clothes himself in is sickness and that such a mask hides his inner smile.

She asks me to let go of yesterday for she dances not there, to be in the now for it holds no expectations and that the past I hold myself to, therein contains my suffering.

Yet I fear, for uncertainty takes me as I think about loss and worry about failure but as I look out to the horizon of love stretched out before me, I find my strength in the realisation that there isn’t any.

I must walk alone for the way to her heart is a path that only I can see.

Alone, sometimes the thought scares me but then I look into the eyes of my loved ones around me and I find them weeping. Then I realize that already we are alone and that I am hiding amongst them and them with me.

Then upon the comforting wings of inspiration my Destiny whispers, “Beloved, though you may walk amongst a thousand loving and familiar faces always will your heart yearn for me.

My call is the summons to truth, my kiss is the silence of all your desires, I am your completion in death and your birth to infinity.

Side by side, we will find comfort in each other for I will stand by you when the loving is lost and the thousand familiar faces turn away.

Hand in hand, together, we will walk into the unknown…

I must leave for I hear the song of destiny and know that she sings for me. She is a daughter of beauty, a goddess who beckons me to give chase through fields of eternity in hope that I might catch and embrace her in fiery love, where together we will shine as a single star and watch the dawn of a New World open before us…

[bluestar]

I did this as a short childrens story...


The Selfless Flower

There was a young lady who climbed a mountain.

Her ascent was hard and lonely as she battled against the cold hard winds that constantly wanted to tear her down.

Finally she reached a plateau, high above the villagers who gossiped about her, below her.

Scarred and cut, battered and bruised, she looked out to the horizon and smiled.

It was here she would plant her garden.

From the mountain she took her stone and erected her walls.

With her soul she laid the earth.

With her love for life she gathered her seeds.

And with the fondest touch she planted them.

But with the highest of altitudes, harsher was the climate that fought her, made more miserable by the wind-lifted mockery of the villagers’ laughter that assailed her.

Yet exposed to those battering winds and bitter colds she struggled to bring life where there was so little.

Weathered she became, as many years went on, but this hardened her will to keep her garden safe from the elements that sought to destroy it.

And endure she did.

Kept going by the warmth of her heart, she watched the seeds slowly sprout.

But those seeds were young and fragile and many died, killed by the ever-growing weeds amongst them, for she had not the strength to save them all.

There were some that budded only to be torn from the ground, lost to the cold harsh wind when she was not looking, to busy trying to save others.

There were those that flowered, opened by her loving kiss, blossomed by her loving touch, but cry she would when she pruned them, unable to understand her intention to help them grow higher and flower brighter.

Still she nurtured and toiled.

But as years went on, old she became and her strength she lost, for with all that she gave it her garden gave little in return.

Only glimpses of colour and a sudden waft of loving scent but flourish it did not.

Then one morning she woke to find a frost had stolen the life from it all.

Broken and disgruntled she fell to the lifeless soil and wept.

Drained was her spirit and she knew she had not the strength to start again.

It was then a bee, who had been watching from her wall, flew down to rest on the end of her finger.

“Why is it that you weep?”

As she sobbed, “For my garden has gone and empty is my breast, for my very heart has gone into this dry, dead soil and I cry for all my effort has been in vain.”

It was then the bee smiled.

“Go to your walls and push them down.”

And with the last of her strength she did.

As they collapsed around her, she fell to her knees in awe; beyond her garden the mountain bloomed in flowers with more radiance and love then she could ever imagine.

And the bee whispered, “Upon your wall I have sat and watched you for many years. I have watched you struggle in your garden with devotion and enduring love.

I have watched your flowers grow with only the smallest of thanks for the sacrifice you gave them. But I saw the seeds of your love fly beyond your walls and flourish where you could not see them.

Stop and listen to the world around you; there is peace, for long ago the laughter stopped.

The villagers that once mocked and chastised you are now humbled as their children frolic and play in the miracle you have created.

Take a walk within the garden of your love, my giver of life and look inside yourself.

You will find the most beautiful flower of them all.

It is called the selfless flower.

It is yours.

[krakhead]

I like that. A lot.

Thank you :)

[bluestar]

I re-posted this one because the first post had a couple of errors...

The Dawn Lovers

One night, at a village feast held in honour of his return, Seth the poet left silently into the dark night, leaving the loudness and drunken festivity behind him.

Watching him quietly disappear, his beloved childhood friend Alexandra followed him into the garden. She found him alone and sitting under the luminous moon. Sitting down beside him she took his hand. “Why do you sit out here alone?”
He looked into her eyes and smiled.

‘I sit by myself but never am I alone. Tonight I share the darkness with a bird whose cries echo throughout the valley and whose call beckons me to open my wings and fly with him. I sit by myself because who would sit with me and enjoy simple pleasures?”
“Not they,” as he pointed to the drunken and loud figures raising mugs behind them.

“You judge them harshly,” she frowned, “they are your friends and they celebrate your return.”

His face grew hard. “They celebrate themselves for themselves; I am but an excuse for their own debasement.”

Then his face softened as he explained. “They know not Love, only its pollution and those who don’t know Love cannot know Life. Those that don’t know Life cannot find Love, so they are friends to no one.”

“They would rather sing their drunken songs of ignorance than listen to the truth. They would rather glut their senses in the presence of themselves than break simple bread with a stranger.

“They would rather pass out on wine than battle sleep to watch the sun rise. They would always rather something for themselves.”

Alexandra sighed, “What you say may well be true but that is no reason for this self-imposed exile. There is no sense in your solitude. Join us back at the table.”

Then Seth squeezed her hand. “Should you talk to me in reason then I will not answer because you cannot hear. Let us leave sense and its absurdities with the drunkards inside for they will tell you that they have it and that I am mad. Here under the moonlight I sit at a table of beauty, in there I sit with emptiness.”

He looked out into the night and whispered, “You say it is I who sits in solitude but I say take a look behind you. You will see who has cut off their connection to love and you will realise it is not I who is in exile and it is not I who am mad. It is they. They who mask their tears under a veil of drunkenness.”

Then she looked back behind her…

That night two childhood lovers wrapped in each other’s arms battled sleep to watch the sunrise.

[bluestar]

A poem...

My Love

Drink, my love
Let your soul have its fill
For the world has become a desert and you
Have lost your way.

Rest, My love
You are safe within my arms
Your eyes tell me of your weariness
And I know you are tired of walking in circles

Cry, my love
Let me weep with you
Let me lighten the burden of your heaviness
For your tears and my tears bleed from one heart

Pray, my love
I will kneel beside you
Together we will ask the heavens to lesson
The sting of the whipping winds
And to send loving rain to cool the scorching
Sands that blister your feet.

Strength, my love
Be not thwarted by the fire of the sun
It tempers the soul
And there are still many dunes to cross

Faith, my love
It will lighten your footsteps in the sinking sand
And pick you up when you stumble
For it is best not to fall in exhaustion,
When hungry vultures circle


Courage, my love
Is to follow the heart and take up your calling
Let it take you beyond this merciless place,
Paradise is waiting

Do not give up, my love
Here we are but footsteps in shifting sands
For this life is not unlike a dream
And you will awake when you realise
That now is the beginning and end of
Every journey

And your purpose?
It is Love, my love
And when you come home from your long parting
You will never be separated again.

[jayelowell]

your writings are quite moving!!!

[bluestar]

Another poem...


Beware, You the Clever People

We are amongst you, you the clever people.

At your side we take our stand and we point to the sun’s direction. Behold, the dawn breaks over us all.

Take our hands and we shall draw you from the river that carries you to your death. Heed our words for they mark safe rocks upon which you can stand. You must not be afraid to ride the tide of change because it is time to run to the light and not look back.

Know the waters shall be parted for the courageous.

We come not to threaten but to avert and if our words burn you it reveals only the necessity of these times for harsher is the tempest that you bring upon yourselves.

We watch you, you the clever people.

We watch you raise your glasses in celebration of your own genius and revel in the smugness of your own self-conceit.

Verily, you are but clowns relishing your own applause, celebrating your own stupidity.

Technology has given you a voice and don’t you love to shout it from the rooftops. So loud you have become that you are drowning each other in a sea of noise. Know that just because you are loud does not mean you are right and that technology in the hands of the spiritually blind is but a loaded gun in the hands of children.

Listen you, you the clever people.

Cleverness is not a virtue but a disguise and you are but liars unto yourselves. You are flies riding upon the backs of dying sparks, which you claim as your own.

You think yourselves light but rather you are thieves of light trying to steal the glimmer of a moment for yourselves and thus, to us, you reveal your ignorance. You clutch so tightly to the little you know that now we are forced to pry open your hand to show you that you hold nothing at all. Realise that hiding behind masks of knowledge only succeeds in hiding the truth from yourselves and arrogance is but a call to infinity to come and wipe the smirk of your face. Be warned, stand in humility as you face the great sea and she will accept and protect you. Stand in tyranny and she will level your sandcastles.

You astound us, you the clever people.

We are at your tables and are amazed at the amount of rubbish that flows from your mouths.

We are in your classrooms and are sickened as you poison your children.

We are in your boardrooms and cry in disbelief as you plan to destroy Mother Earth. How would you have us help you when you will not help yourselves?

Over countless lifetimes we have told you of the freedom that awaits you all but you have spurned us. We have bought you hope yet you sought to silence us. We have been bearers of truth and you have killed us yet still we love you all the more.

We ask you, you the clever people.

Have you had enough or shall suffering be your lot?

Understand the darkness of your paradox. You tremble before the presence of death but at the same time you run straight to it. You seek peace with guns pointed to one another’s head. You kill the love in each other by trying to steal it for yourselves and then you cry out at the blackness of your lives.

Realise the stupidity of a people who enjoy forging the chains of their own bondage and realise our frustration when they cry to us in their pain and scream out about life’s injustice.

We plead that you should open your hearts because we know life is just; it is just that you do not want to listen. When will you learn that blindness is not a shield but a choice; if one chooses to wear the dark veil one must also bear its consequences.

Woe to you, you the clever people.

So dark is your world, you cannot see what you have become. You are parasites hanging off your children, feeding off their inspiration and vitality to fatten yourselves.

You are distorters of truth, benders of light, trying to reduce the grandeur of life to suit your own weak and wretched selves.

You are vampires who bleed dry Mother Earth and spread your infection of fear with the nastiest of bites. You pride yourselves as monsters but you are only insects hiding in darkness, unaware of the great world beyond. Know this: you will scatter like cockroaches when truth removes the rock that you hide under. You must understand that this is not done out of tyranny but out of measure of need; know your shelters are about to collapse upon yourselves.


We summon you, you the clever people.

Our call resounds throughout the valley and we ask you to present yourselves. Great are the ones who face the light; their bravery shall be rewarded. To the foolish ones, understand that there is no hiding and though you may try, know you cannot disguise yourselves from us. Know the light comes and you shall wail as it burns through the pride and the pretence. You can call yourselves learned but we know that all you have is a tainted pinch of salt from the great eternal sea. How vain you are, to proud to be honest, you dress yourselves as monarchs when you are but beggars fighting over scraps to eat.

If this be your world vision then relish your kingdom, oh royalty of the sewers. The time has come to shatter the mirror you are so fond of looking into. Understand that salvation comes when self deception ends.

We are you, you the clever people.

We are the first to walk through the flames of truth; behold the transformation. Love has burnt away the dross and we have yielded to the light; we ask you to do the same.

We are your hope who have come to reveal to you the new world.
We are your children; do not deny us.

Listen to your hearts and you shall hear our voice.

Open to love and you shall realise the treasure that lives within us all. Strive for the higher and heaven shall open to you for all who earnestly seek shall be delivered.

Know that we, the children of dawn, are amongst you and here we shall make our stand; but be warned- those of you who deny the light of truth- for we shall come in Love and we shall love you fiercely.

[bluestar]

I wrote this story awhile back... I think some might enjoy this one..

CHOPS

It was my friend Dreamer who warned us.

One morning he awoke bleating in terror. “A storm is coming, a storm is coming and it is the horse that draws Death’s chariot. Take me to the Rams so I might warn them”.

The lambs laughed and the ewes told him not to be so silly.

Dreamer had always been a weird little lamb. Most of the flock avoided him and he avoided most of the flock. Preferring the company of solitude, he usually sat alone in the quieter corners of the paddock. Even I, Split Hoof, gave him plenty of distance for when I would ask him to play he would just frown and tell me not to be so stupid.

That was why I was so taken aback by his out burst.

Realising his cry had fallen upon deaf ears he turned about and went to the Rams.

Curious, I followed at a distance.

The Rams all frowned at his approach; it was unusual for a lamb to enter their feeding circle.

Dreamer walked into its centre and spoke to them. “A storm is coming; it is the horse that drives Deaths chariot. It is time for us to seek refuge elsewhere”.

At this, some of the Rams broke into laughter, though most didn’t even look up from the grain bin. Then Blockpusher, the loudest of the flock spoke, “How do you know it comes my little friend?”

“I can smell it,” Dreamer spoke earnestly.

The Rams all laughed and pretended to sniff the air and Blockpusher spoke again, “It is funny that I do not; I have sniffed many a storm before”.

“That is because you use your senses and not your sense,” Dreamer answered.

Then the Ram Readalot butted in. “Listen my little lamb,” as he winked to the others, “for many years I have lived in this paddock. Like you, when I was your age, I also held these same fears until one day I realised that it was foolish wasting my life worrying about it, so I lived it. That was many years ago and all of us here have endured many a hard season. What makes you think that this one will claim us?”

Dreamer frowned, “Because this is the storm we have asked for.”

“Why would we ask for that which could kill us, my confused little lamb? You would have us leave our beloved paddock and follow you, a lamb, into the woods to be savaged by wild dogs and hell knows what else? Go back to your friends, go back to your playing.”

Dreamer spoke forcefully. “With your contempt you have called for results and soon they will be given. I DO NOT ask that you follow me nor anyone else for that is the very reason why Death comes to claim you. I plead that you listen to the cry of your heart so you follow its song, let it take you to greener pastures. In our own ignorance we have forgotten that we are just sheep.”

Readalot grew angry. “Listen to my heart, such rubbish you speak. You, lamb, have the arrogance to tell us we are mindless sheep; you have a lot to learn you contemptuous little dropping. Best leave here before we kick you silly”.

The other Rams shook their heads in disbelief.

Dreamer snapped, “You have the arrogance to say you are not”.
Then he sighed and looked around the circle to stop at each Ram as he went around. “Now, as I stand in the presence of you all, I see what has happened. How can one listen to his heart if its sound is smothered by the sound of his own loud voice? I shall pray for you all because I see death in your eyes. His stench rides the breath of your own self-deceit; you are so proud to be stupid.”

“That is quite enough!” a voice called from the rear of the grain bin. It was Greybeard, the oldest and most respected of all Rams. “I have heard many such heretical cries of prophetic doom over the years, the lunatic fringe is always spawning such wicked yarns; best we just turn our back on our psychotic little soothsayer here. He is just a foolish little lamb.”

Then the Ram Praysabit spoke, “He has forgotten about the farmer who has fed and kept us all our lives. He will save us; I have faith in him”.

“The farmer you pray to is an idol and a lie; your faith is justification of your own wickedness” Dreamer bleated.

“You curse at the Farmer, you ignorant little devil,” yelled Praysabit, “he who has given us the benefit of his technology.

Thanks to him our grain bins are never empty and we are never hungry. Thanks to him our dams are always full so we are never thirsty; praise for him who built this fence to protect us from wild dogs.”

“How could you insult him? Have you no sense of morality? You are mad!”

Dreamer spat: “That is what has damned you. He has poisoned you and you love its taste. Contentment has made you arrogant, laziness has made you sleepy; how can you call me ignorant when it is you that speaks from a dream? The paddock is barren and your children are restless: they butt out their frustrations on each other. High on fungus and hollow thrills, they commit crimes of emptiness and don’t know why. They feel an invisible hand around their throats and do not know whose hand it is. All are crying for answers. Answers that you have forgotten from a truth that you have turned your backsides to, for your heads are in the grain bin.

“The fence that protects you sentences you, for it cannot protect you from yourselves. Your poisoned minds are left to their own poison devices. The farmer has done his job well,” Dreamer held his ground.

The Rams turned around and pointed their dags at him. Then, with a solid smack, Greybeard kicked him out of the circle. “You have gone too far lamb; you are banished from us”.

Dreamer rose to his feet and went to speak but the sheep laughed at him; using their bodies they pushed him from the flock. Dreamer bleated, “HOPE HAS TURNED TO DECEIT AND LOVE HAS GONE SOUR!”

From a distance I had heard it all. I trotted myself over to him and he spoke to me, “Split Hoof, my friend, will you not come with me?”

Shaking my little horns I declined, “Though I am lame and an outcast like yourself, I will follow the flock because it is all I know.”

“Then I must say goodbye and pray that your lame leg saves you. Hope has turned to deceit and love has gone sour. Beware the great fog my friend.”

“For when a sheep has turned arrogant, too long it has been since it has seen a wolf. So when they stand in the open, bleating loudly their self-importance, they are wingless flies demanding a hungry spider to come pay its respect.”

“I say the wolf has answered.”

Climbing to his hooves he said, “Goodbye and may your leg fail as they run towards certainty”. Then he trotted away.

Many days passed. The flock enjoyed poking fun at the words of Dreamer. Many said he would come back but as days turned to weeks I knew he was gone forever. Many said the wild dogs had savaged him, many just said he was mad.

Weeks turned into months and many a lovely day went by until one day a strange thing happened.

Bored, I sat watching the sheep grazing, mounting and sleeping and a question formed upon my lips, WHY? But as soon as it came I lost it and suddenly I couldn’t recall who I was. I asked the herd but the lambs all laughed and the ewes just bleated, “Split Hoof you silly”.

But that was not enough; something was missing but I couldn’t think what it was. Grey was all around me and I felt suffocated.

The Great Fog was upon me so suddenly that everything went black and then I realised it had always been there. My whole life I had been wandering aimlessly.



I tried to recall the last time I had seen the sun but I had forgotten what it looked like.
It was so dark that no-one could tell the left from their right or right from wrong and the sheep just kept on grazing, oblivious to the floating death around them.

Panicking, I screamed, “REMEMBER DREAMER, REMEMBER DREAMER. The Rams just frowned; they hadn’t noticed anything. The lambs all laughed and the ewes just called me silly.

Shaking in fear, I lay down and closed my eyes. Letting go to fear, I wanted death to just take me. Then, suddenly, a light lit from within and I could see.

I yelled to the flock: “The paddock is an ideal of freedom that has led you to bondage; let it go we must seek higher ground”.

The flock laughed and I then knew that I would have to go alone.

Climbing to my hooves, I looked around and found a path in the darkness. It went beyond the fence to higher ground and I let the song of my heart guide me. I climbed up the hill until I found a stable ledge and there I sat overlooking the paddock, quietly overseeing them all.

As days went by I noticed a change in the flock. One by one some of the sheep would wake up screaming.

“I am blind,” some would bleat. “We are dead,” bleated the others, and I could tell that the fog had claimed them.

Those that panicked ran into the fence, hanging themselves on barbed wire; those that cleared it ran blindly into the unknown, food for wild dogs. Some went mad eating fungus.

I would cry out to them but lost in such fear they could not hear me. I saw death coming in the distance and I saw the storm over us all.

The Rams stood around the grain bin oblivious to everything but their own loud voices. The ewes stood by the Rams; the lambs stood around the ewes. Doom hugged them all.

Then the rains of confusion started and the sheep pulled together to keep warm. “It’s just a little rain”, laughed the Rams, “Nothing to worry about”.

But that little rain turned into a great rain and the paddock began to flood. One by one they began to take notice; one by one they realised they were all in darkness and tighter they drew together. “Safety in numbers,” one of the ewes cried.

But it wasn’t until the grain bins flooded that the Rams grew nervous.

“Don’t worry,” Praysabit assured the flock, “the farmer will save us,” though he did not sound so sure of himself.

Still the rain kept coming and the Rams began to panic; finding themselves in the great fog, they began to scream. Everyone went crazy.

“We are doomed,” screamed the Rams as they trampled the ewes.

“We are all going to die,” screamed the ewes that smothered their lambs. “Every sheep for himself.”

Fights broke out everywhere as the Rams used their horns to kill the weak, standing on the bodies of others to keep themselves from drowning.

From my little island I watched in horror as dead lambs floated past me. I could hear the cries of the ewes and the panic of the Rams. I heard some of them cry, “Pray for the Farmer, pray for the Farmer” and many bowed their heads in prayer. It was then lightning flashed and thunder answered. I heard a howl in the distance.

Suddenly a car horn beeped. “The Farmer is here,” Praysabit bleated, as the choking of an engine sounded over the rain.

The sheep all cried with joy. “We are rescued, praise the Farmer”.

The farmer gave a long whistle to follow his ute; the Rams leading the way as the flock ran towards him.

I followed, but my lame leg gave out from under me. Stuck in the mud, I raised my head, helpless!

It was then I noticed something was wrong. I could smell it. They were all in such a rush they did not notice.

Limping behind them, I realised I could not catch up, “Come back,” I cried but the rain had drowned out my voice and they were too far away. “Come back.”

The Rams all cheered as the farmer opened the doors to the Big Red Shed and all the sheep filed in. Warm and safe inside, the Rams regained their composure.

“I told you there was nothing to fear,” spoke Greybeard. “I knew the Farmer would save us” laughed Praysabit.

All the Rams admonished the flock. “We told you we were right” and then the Farmer entered the shed and shut the doors behind him.

Turning around to bleat their thanks, one of the ewes started screaming as the Farmer tipped up his hat to expose his shadowed face.

Putting on an apron, the wolf picked up his meat cleaver and howled.

Outside the slaughter house I sat and listened to the screaming. Hearing footsteps behind me, I turned around to see Dreamer smiling- sad and knowing.

“I tried my hardest” was all that he said as we walked through sunny fields and I nodded my head. “I know you did my friend, I know you did”.

[bluestar]

The Graveyard Vagabond

I walk in a land of ghosts.
In a city of gravestones, I hear their cries in every word they don’t speak and feel the pain in every word they do. It is a pain that burns forever within my chest because I know loneliness is an unquenchable fire. They hide in the shadows of a broken heart and cry for help but it is futile because in a world of darkness no one can find each- other.

I walk in a land of ghosts.
Who whisper words of love but how can one talk of love when they draw it from an empty well.
Who use words of trust but they are disposable for they have become disposable people. They search for meaning in the meaningless and cry murder when the loving truth lets the lie kill itself because they realise that without their lies they have nothing to protect themselves with and by destroying the truth there is nothing to remind them of who they really are.

I walk in a land of ghosts.
Empty like the land I visited before this one for everywhere they have sucked Mother Earth’s teat of all its richness and turned it into cancerous bile.
They portion it out as medicine but grow more sickly everyday. Like lepers, they watch each other fall to pieces. Sweeping their digits under the carpet, they smile their toothless smiles as if nothing is wrong. Those that are born with disease only know disease, that is their legacy to their children.

Cursed with life, I walk amongst the dead, kissing the lips of corpses. Trying to resuscitate those who will not be saved. I watch their restless spirits rattle their chains, and I hear their cries for salvation when I walk past. But I cast my eyes down because they can’t stand that I can see right through them. They look at me strangely when I ask them to awake because they do not know they are in a dream gone bad.

I think they hate me.
And how can I blame them.

For how can one not offend shadows when he tells them they have no substance in this shadow world, and how can one not expect the gravest misgivings when one talks about light and they can only picture darkness.

Best I stay silent and keep walking.
Truly, I am an outcast in this strange, ghostly land.

[bluestar]

Child of Light

Once in the dark forest of my dreams, I followed the shade of my father.

In a clouded world of mists and shadows, we journeyed through the gnarled and twisted trees, walking on the path of our ancestors, called tradition.

We made our way with stealth and hunted with cunning. Felling many a bird from branch and sky, we had left a trail of blood and scattered feathers behind us.

As we hunted, I savoured the rare words of praise my father embellished me with as each of my arrows found its mark and I could feel his look of pride upon me with each dull thud of draining life fallen upon the earth; but I could not raise my eyes to meet his stare for, in truth, I hated hunting.

Further he would beckon me into the heavy mists and shadows; foolishly I followed. I dared not question him or his intentions lest his eyes of pride look upon me no longer and he abandon me in this accursed wood. The thought of that frightened me; for often, to myself, I wondered if he knew where we were going at all for as I looked down to my feet to question the path that we were walking I became fearful and confused because there didn’t seem to be one.

Then, after what seemed an eternity of mindless wandering, I could go no further and I stopped. Exhausted, I massaged my aching legs and began to contemplate the senselessness of my actions. Paying no attention to the fearful calls of my father who was yelling at me about the dangers of staying still, I broke down in tears at the pointlessness of it all.

Then, sung out of the darkness, carried upon the dank heavy airs that swirled about us sounded a low and sorrowful moaning. Frozen in my fear, I listened attentively as does the terrified rabbit who listens for the sounds of a nearby fox, absolutely still and with a pounding heart. The dreadful cries grew deeper, seeming to reverberate from the very depths of my dark little world – sung with such anguish and helplessness like the mournful spectre who wails for the light of heavenly acceptance that never comes.

Retaining but only a few drops of my evaporated courage, I silently crept through the dense undergrowth towards such misery’s source.

From behind a bush I inhaled deeply as I drew back its branches…

Piercing through the dark clouds of my inner world, the forgotten sun shone a small ray of Love to illuminate a small forest clearing. In the centre of the clearing kneeled a lone, sadly man. He was a monk. His robes were but rags, they were tattered and torn. His face sullen, his features partially hidden behind a long and thick, matted beard on which hung a fine webbing of thin icicles spun by the spinnerets of the ice spider, Frost. His hair, knotted and wild, was tossed back as his tear-filled eyes beseeched the skies for forgiveness. Within his cupped and blood-washed hands he held the crumpled form of a dead white dove which he raised in an offering to the heavens.

Held fast, I stared at the scene revealed before me in a awe and fear raced down my spine like the cold hand of a ghost passing through me as I realised the dead dove that he held within his hands was one of the birds that I had felled.

His cry came to a sudden stop and my heart skipped a beat for I knew he had sensed our presence. Turning around, he stared directly into my eyes with a gaze so powerful I felt as if the hand of God was around me, able to crush my bones to power if he had so will it. Rising to his feet, he walked to the edge of the light with the dead, limp dove loosely held within his fingers.

Hypnotised, I was cast as stone and time was suspended. Then, from the shadows, my father stepped out to protect me, his hunting bow knotched and aimed. Breaking the gaze that held me fast, I exhaled sharply for I had forgotten to breathe.

“Step into the light child,” spoke the monk. His tone soft, the voice was like a gentle song whispered from many different directions and was in great contrast to his deep, powerful eyes that felt like they had stripped me to my essence. Undisturbed by the shade’s threatening presence, he ignored my father and kept his eyes stayed on me.

“Step into the light child.” He spoke again but the spirits of uncertainty had stolen my will.

Mesmerized, I knew not what to say or do. Sensing my hesitation, his face grew softer and his tone outreaching as he gestured out into the shadows: “Step into light child for there are worse things than I out there.”

“What do you want?” I managed to stammer, my voice was scared and deflated.

“Fear me not.” His voice was soothing and calm. “I have come for you.”

Confused, I timidly spoke, “Why are you here?”

Keeping me stilled within his gaze he spoke: “For I have wandered through this wood of human misconception for thousands of years, finding the lost and healing the broken-hearted. For thousands of years I have nurtured the life within these realms only to have you take it away. This woeful era of senselessness is at its end and humanity will learn responsibility for itself. It is time to reveal to you a new path; it is time that the children of earth walk the true way; it is time to lay down your bow and hunt no longer.”

He continued: “I am here because tradition has become but a path of ignorance and your way has lost it’s meaning. I am here because in your dreams you are crying for truth. The complacency of aimlessness you have indulged in has become a cage and the delusion of security you have found walking in circles has dissolved. It has become restrictive torture. I am here to tell you to release your grip upon your suffering for it is by your own hand that you strangle yourself. Step into the light child for out there within the shadows there is only slavery. Out there in the darkness of egoism all is illusion.”

Struggling with his words I flared up with frustration: “You would have me lay down my bow and leave me helpless in this savage wood? I say it is you who has lost your way,” I spat back. His words had burned me.

A gentle smile warmed his face: “Aye, I would have you lay down your bow but you will not be helpless. Verily, I will help make you a giant if you but embrace the truth of whom you are. Only in gentleness and compassion can humanity grow and a giant you will become when you realise that the greatest powers lie latent in the depths of humility.

For in vulnerability you will find the greatest strength.

And understand you will that the finest of armour is openness and only in obedience you will find true freedom.

“You speak to me in riddles:” I shot back, confused.

“Naye, it is your life that has fallen into riddles. I offer its solution. Here, in the ray of heavenly Love, the shades of perception disappear within the light of truth. Here all darkness is vanquished.”

Silenced, I tried to absorb all that he was saying.

His face dropped in sadness as his eyes swelled with tears. Holding the dead bird forward, cupped in his bloodied hands, he softly spoke: “She is of you, yet you know it not.”

Confused, I stammered, “She is just a bird.”

And he answered sadly: “Child of earth, would you stay blind? If this is just a bird, then this is but a dream and I will bid you farewell for it is your choice to remain in the darkness.”

Despair welled within me and, panicked, I pleaded: “Please don’t leave me.”

Gesturing the bird towards me he whispered: “She is of you child and she is more than just a bird, understand that: She is the delicate flame of inspiration blown out by the breath of ignorance. She is love pierced by a dart of thoughtlessness. She is an unanswered prayer, fallen back into the void.”

Tears streamed down his face as he explained softly: “With each life that you claim, you kill a part of yourself. With each step further into darkness you take, the colder you become.” Pleading, he reached out his hand and asked: “Lay down your bow child, take my hand; it is time to end this foolishness.”

I went to walk to him but my father hissed, raised his hand and kept me back.

Then the monk turned toward the shade and, with hard words, spoke: “Be gone illusion of yesterday, you will lead no more. Be gone minion of fear, you are but a shadow of what is for your way is lost in what has been. The children of earth will be deluded no longer.”

As the monk continued, the shade began to tremble. “Let you not make your child stand behind you, but you behind your child for it is through children that life expresses itself. Life is eternal progression and renewal, it cannot be stayed. So I way unto you that he who tries to stay life with the hand of ignorance will be thwarted by himself, for he acts contrary to his own true nature; and he who holds back the children of life is fear of life itself. Be gone!”

Then, with a firm gaze and gesture he dismissed my father. Powerless, the shade lowered his bow and resigned subserviently, stepped back into the shadows behind me.

Turning back to face me, his eyes looked at me deeply. “In truth, all fathers are but children following in the footsteps of their own. Had you true sight, you would have seen your father as a child being beckoned onwards by his own fears and then realised that disastrous plight of humanity, that it is lost and walking in circles. Such is the foolishness of man. I have seen sons bury their fathers only to be buried by their sons in the grim procession of eternal death. It is to be no longer, the cycle of ignorance ends with you.

Step into the light child, it is Love. Lay down your bow and embrace me for I am eternal life.”

Drawing my courage, I laid down my bow and, taking a step forward, I accepted his hand. Leaving the darkness of my lower nature, I stepped into the light. Behind me I could hear the shade crying out in desperation and fear – it was self repentant and frightened, but I did not look back. I was beyond it and I knew all was to be forgiven.

Absorbed into the light, love met with love as I embraced my higher self and, in a flash of divine union, we became one. There in the light of truth, all darkness was vanquished and the flame of ecstacy raced through me as tears of joy streamed down my face. Raising the dead white dove I held within my fingers, I bought it to my lips. There in the light of understanding, I gently kissed it with the breath of life and released it into the air…..

That day, in the forest of my dreams, a lone white dove spiralled into the sky higher than any arrow could reach her. Her cries of freedom and love echoed throughout my world, causing all the trees to yield up their birds into the sky. Leading them up into the heavens, she pierced through the dark clouds of obscurity that had always been there and the divine sun broke through in brilliant colour and high revelation. I fell to my knees in tearful bliss; never would I be lost again.

All was love and love was all.

Then I woke up…..

[bluestar]

TEARS UPON THE BATTLEFIELD

A young friend sat alone on the grass in the central city park unnoticed by those who were too busy. Writing poetry that surpassed her age she was a defiant heart crying in the shadows of our so-called civilisation.
Struggling inwardly and bravely, her poetry whispered to me like beautiful a song that both kissed and saddened my heart.
Smiling as I approached, Madison dropped her pen and notepad in her bag and stood up to give me a warm hug. Taking her hand with a smile I guided her through those quieter and unpopulated streets and pathways. As we navigated our way through the city, we talked and laughed and the throb and blur of our surroundings went unnoticed.
Coming to a footbridge she skipped on ahead and ran up the stairs.
Sometimes we would come here to talk and reflect. A true reality check in a world gone mad and we were blessed in a simple friendship by its living flame as we struggled within the limitations of our earthly sojourn.
We walked out to the centre of the bridge, the city stood before us and its traffic moved beneath. Together, we stared out over the urban sprawl…

"Sometimes I get so scared", she broke the silence between us.
"This civilisation has lost all sense and the people go about their mundane lives in a way that no longer has any true meaning. Our society seems void of purpose, everything is confused and often wrong."
She looked up at me questioningly, "It seems so overwhelming"

As I stood beside her, I could feel her deep concern and troubles.
"When Humanity denies truth they lose their alignment and connection to Life.
The wheel turns, a new cycle begins, all that we have invested in disappears, all that we have created turns around and bears down upon us.
Should we shall seek to cling to the familiar and the comfortable now we shall find they are disappearing. The world as we know it is coming to its end." I answered her.

Bitterly she whispered, "This world is insane. Every day our teachers, media and peers sell us lies as truth, conformity as individuality, prison as freedom.
My heart tells me that humanity has lost its way because they call this life," she pointed out to the horizon, "when all it is, is walking death."
"My friends succumb to this fog having lost all sense of who they truly are. Their hearts are dying and their minds corrupted by the propaganda of a decaying world order that seeks to keep them confused, sickened and distracted."

I looked into her eyes.
"We shed our tears upon this battlefield as we watch the tide of death take many out to sea. Yes, today we are forced to face the collective projections of life that is going wrong. Those who can hear must arouse their hearts and hearken to truth for if they do not wake up fast they shall drift into a collective nightmare.
This is the cost of a society heedless to the truth of the times and a people that have strayed into apathy, materialism and blind indifference
A world that has fallen deep into self absorption wherein everyone has become so confused, weak and powerless."

"What you say speaks to my heart but it is so hard. Humanity has become so psychologically sick there is not enough true light to discharge this rising madness. The burden seems too great.
I feel we have been abandoned by our elders and left to fend for ourselves in a world that has lost all hope and meaning. We are a targeted and easy prey for this ruthless, material civilisation that exploits its children to fatten itself.
No-one wants to listen; no-one seems to care."
She looked away, down over the traffic.

"It takes a strong heart and mind to wade clear of this madness that threatens to claim us all. The cross of humanity is very heavy and this world seeks to deny its conscience by silencing the true servants of the race.
In their denial they have burdened their children under the weight of the age.
I took her hand, But remember... great are the forces of Love that lie beyond the periphery of human sight, humanities true guides are ever present. They shall always aid those whose hearts are sincere. I softly smiled.

She whispered, "But humanity is living so heedless to what is transpiring.
Deaf and inert do they live their lives. Their hearts so dull, their heads filled with so many trivial and dead things.
They have become so lost that they know not they are"
Fire flashed behind her eyes, "This world shall not claim me!" she worded defiantly.

I smiled at her bravery, "It is living intuitively and selflessly that is true rebellion in a world twisted in lies, selfishness and deceit. We must live from our true centre of being should we withstand this illusion as the world does roar.
Collectively we are now being forced to face our self created demons of our past as this juggernaught of civilisation rises and what we have unleashed seeks to draw us into conflict and war.
We must face this openly, honestly and bravely.

She looked out into the distance, "
Within my heart there are visions not of this world. A Remembrance of the greater life arouses from within. I have a call to inspire and awaken those who smother this sight by their own hands and foolishness."

I whispered, "Trust in the guidance of your heart and live your life selflessly, in such a way to invoke that true grace that seeks to help you.
Let your writing be as your soul guides to serve the race.
In a time of confusion and world deceit you have the true honesty to confront those self deceptions within and around you. You arouse those sleeping hearts to their true divine nature. That is rare and to live in such a way takes a selfless heart."

Together we looked out beyond the smog hazed horizon.

Her Voice broke, "But sometimes I feel so alone"…
I put my arms around her and a soft vibration of divine Love rippled the ethers around us. It touched her heart and she swelled with grateful tears.

I smiled, "No, you are not alone and when your work here is finished the New World awaits you…

[bluestar]

After a few months of writers block on a new book I thought it might be good to release a few pieces from it....perhaps to get some new energy circulating.
The New World refferred to in the piece is nothing to do with the New World Order but the promise of the present shift and purified earth....for those who might get a little confused.
The book is called Tears Upon the Battlefield-
The above piece is a piece from the book....