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Description
Midwinter Fable

Midwinter Fable

Dreary, silent, closed the shutters; frozen words I hereby utter,
time of last, the breath of wind, I opened up and ushered in.
Creeping quiet, on my cheek, an icy kiss so cold and bleak.
White rain from heaven fell down fast upon my lawn,
drowning sight and drowning sound, though short to last is all around.

This day of old that winter stole sits clearly in my mind,
for days are short and fleeting fast, and now there’s not much time.
Regret and sorrow filled my heart for chances left behind,
as I sank into the velvet crepe of my living room recliner
and listened to TV reports of death and things much finer.

Hearing all I cared to hear I shut the TV off and peered
at my ever-growing shelf of books that sat collecting dust and soot.
“Hmm.” I said when chance showed one I’d not yet read
the fading title Fable etched upon its cover gleamed,
like tarnished gold within its rippled seams.

The gathered dust was blown away by one strong gust,
and within its pages, tales of knights and tales of mages,
heroism, angst, and malice, consuming those who seek the chalice.
One tale stood out, above the rest, a tale of winter’s reign,
and for the time it seemed to fit, with the mood that I retained.

The hero was an exiled prince; cast out, beguiled, and ever since
then sought repentance for the crime that was his sentence,
Though unspoken, still was broken, ancient law and liberty divine.
By that which drives the noble man to seek the common woman’s hand,
above all else, and over riches tossed his gold into the ditches.

For sin as such in nobles’ eyes, forgiveness money could not buy.
So fleeing from this vain outcry, he thought that he would surely die,
to frozen mountains far away, from his former life and light of day.
He dwelt alone, an icy cave, the mountain throne along the way.
Looking up, my window pane, frozen glass, an icy stain.

Silence, creeping quick and quiet, on my doorstep all but silent
drifting, dreaming, white unbroken, with the stillness gave no token
of the growing pit of emptiness within my soul.
Flowing freely frightful phantom of the depths I could not fathom
deep within my soul the memories of a time so long ago.

Returning to my likewise fable, I or no one else is able,
to see such duality in-between our two twin souls.
For he as I upon returning, found his former home was burning
ravaged by the kings and castles of a jealous rival’s horde.
Pillaged for its bygone treasure, deep within it had been stored.

Past the crumbling, burning pillars,
wandering first then falling stiller
than a statue, stricken silent by the silent spectacle ensued.
For past the fallen forms of friends and family forlorn,
lay the memory of his broken angel upon the crimson balcony floor.

Crying out he cursed the heavens, for their cruel malign intentions.
In what grand design was mentioned, such a fate that he had earned?
As if to answer, slow then faster, falling flakes of dutiful design,
quells such fires, heart’s desires, cold and loneliness implied.
Icy breath that dreams and destinies denies.

Closing quickly, falling faster, my heart crashed into disaster
for memories of alabaster hopes and dreams smashed on the floor.
I couldn’t stand to finish reading, for in me this tale was seeding
darker thoughts, unsettling seeming, as of one who can’t stop dreaming,
trapped within a nightmare self-imposed and nothing more.

Unknowingly that I had spoken, shouting first then weeping, broken
running through the frozen mounds with loneliness decored.
Grim and graven, image raven, stony staring from its haven,
reminding me of poets stronger, for their tales enduring longer
than my own short legacy endured.

Plain and stupid, dreams of cupid, wafting on a summer breeze.
Arching arrows, bows and barrows, chilling me down to the marrow,
calling forth a cavalcade of stone and spirit from the trees.
Overturning, overcoming, phantom figures unbecoming,
following me, Hell-bent, running; even so I cannot flee.

Emotionless, a frozen doll, tossed in winter’s epic howl.
Beaten, broken, fallen, foul, consumed by snowy vengeance toll.
My eyes grew heavy, feeling sleepy, burying emotions weepy
drifted off into the silent white velour.
Closed my eyes and drifted off into the dreaming white allure.

Hours later, all for waking, in the blazing sun was baking
on the grass next to me taking, her sweet time in waking
from the icy nightmare that we’d both endured.
Between us with its glimmering label, lying face-up on the table,
lay the icy, frozen fable, in whose pages we’d been lured,
the cyclic chilling broken fable, whose stories open winter’s door.
The book with icy chilling lore, the book we’d open,
nevermore.

Description
Midwinter Fable

Midwinter Fable

Dreary, silent, closed the shutters; frozen words I hereby utter,
time of last, the breath of wind, I opened up and ushered in.
Creeping quiet, on my cheek, an icy kiss so cold and bleak.
White rain from heaven fell down fast upon my lawn,
drowning sight and drowning sound, though short to last is all around.

This day of old that winter stole sits clearly in my mind,
for days are short and fleeting fast, and now there’s not much time.
Regret and sorrow filled my heart for chances left behind,
as I sank into the velvet crepe of my living room recliner
and listened to TV reports of death and things much finer.

Hearing all I cared to hear I shut the TV off and peered
at my ever-growing shelf of books that sat collecting dust and soot.
“Hmm.” I said when chance showed one I’d not yet read
the fading title Fable etched upon its cover gleamed,
like tarnished gold within its rippled seams.

The gathered dust was blown away by one strong gust,
and within its pages, tales of knights and tales of mages,
heroism, angst, and malice, consuming those who seek the chalice.
One tale stood out, above the rest, a tale of winter’s reign,
and for the time it seemed to fit, with the mood that I retained.

The hero was an exiled prince; cast out, beguiled, and ever since
then sought repentance for the crime that was his sentence,
Though unspoken, still was broken, ancient law and liberty divine.
By that which drives the noble man to seek the common woman’s hand,
above all else, and over riches tossed his gold into the ditches.

For sin as such in nobles’ eyes, forgiveness money could not buy.
So fleeing from this vain outcry, he thought that he would surely die,
to frozen mountains far away, from his former life and light of day.
He dwelt alone, an icy cave, the mountain throne along the way.
Looking up, my window pane, frozen glass, an icy stain.

Silence, creeping quick and quiet, on my doorstep all but silent
drifting, dreaming, white unbroken, with the stillness gave no token
of the growing pit of emptiness within my soul.
Flowing freely frightful phantom of the depths I could not fathom
deep within my soul the memories of a time so long ago.

Returning to my likewise fable, I or no one else is able,
to see such duality in-between our two twin souls.
For he as I upon returning, found his former home was burning
ravaged by the kings and castles of a jealous rival’s horde.
Pillaged for its bygone treasure, deep within it had been stored.

Past the crumbling, burning pillars,
wandering first then falling stiller
than a statue, stricken silent by the silent spectacle ensued.
For past the fallen forms of friends and family forlorn,
lay the memory of his broken angel upon the crimson balcony floor.

Crying out he cursed the heavens, for their cruel malign intentions.
In what grand design was mentioned, such a fate that he had earned?
As if to answer, slow then faster, falling flakes of dutiful design,
quells such fires, heart’s desires, cold and loneliness implied.
Icy breath that dreams and destinies denies.

Closing quickly, falling faster, my heart crashed into disaster
for memories of alabaster hopes and dreams smashed on the floor.
I couldn’t stand to finish reading, for in me this tale was seeding
darker thoughts, unsettling seeming, as of one who can’t stop dreaming,
trapped within a nightmare self-imposed and nothing more.

Unknowingly that I had spoken, shouting first then weeping, broken
running through the frozen mounds with loneliness decored.
Grim and graven, image raven, stony staring from its haven,
reminding me of poets stronger, for their tales enduring longer
than my own short legacy endured.

Plain and stupid, dreams of cupid, wafting on a summer breeze.
Arching arrows, bows and barrows, chilling me down to the marrow,
calling forth a cavalcade of stone and spirit from the trees.
Overturning, overcoming, phantom figures unbecoming,
following me, Hell-bent, running; even so I cannot flee.

Emotionless, a frozen doll, tossed in winter’s epic howl.
Beaten, broken, fallen, foul, consumed by snowy vengeance toll.
My eyes grew heavy, feeling sleepy, burying emotions weepy
drifted off into the silent white velour.
Closed my eyes and drifted off into the dreaming white allure.

Hours later, all for waking, in the blazing sun was baking
on the grass next to me taking, her sweet time in waking
from the icy nightmare that we’d both endured.
Between us with its glimmering label, lying face-up on the table,
lay the icy, frozen fable, in whose pages we’d been lured,
the cyclic chilling broken fable, whose stories open winter’s door.
The book with icy chilling lore, the book we’d open,
nevermore.