Drop of Water

The droplet hangs a moment,
Collecting courage,
Mustering strength,
Preparing for its descent.

Hovering at the tip of the golden leaf,
It gathers itself together,
Ready to take the plunge,
Willing to engage what lays below.

The tension broken,
A sturdy platform left to dry alone,
Our swirling mass hangs but a moment longer,
Waiting for the earth to rise in response.

Slowly twisting through space,
Our sphere of molten humidity,
Unraveling a secret story,
Somersaulting a voiceless song.

It cannot fall forever,
This troupe of collected dews,
Despite the lethargic tumbling,
Soon must brace itself.

For that which lays below,
Will not be parted,
Can not be negotiated with,
Must stand true.

And with that thought,
In such a cataclysmic instant,
The droplet finds its mark,
Shape swiftly eradicated.

Striking the bridge of her nose,
Splashing in all directions,
Finding purchase upon her cheek,
The gallant unit is dispersed.

Its secret story quickly silenced,
With the flick of her wrist,
Our droplet wiped away,
Scattered to the wind once more.

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Forest Fire

The cosmic spark
Descends upon the parched earth,
Illuminates the sky,
Splits the winds in half,
Takes purchase in the land,
In the branches of the tarnished oak.

The darkness flares,
The clap of thunder sends the mighty
Beasts to shudder,
Fleeing the scorched soil,
Fleeing the sundered oak,
Fleeing the ignited grasses.

At first the flame seems but an afterthought,
With eyes still burning,
The mighty flash still echoes,
Through the thunderous night.
Ears still ringing, the dread begins to creep onwards,
The humbled grasses wilt and turn to ash before its stare.

The flame spreads with an uncanny vigor,
Spreads with an unnatural hunger,
Unmatched.
It cannot be charmed,
Instead consuming all within its path.
The trees begin to howl, to spit, to squeal.

Soon the forest will be devoured,
The mighty beasts soon trapped,
The call for mercy soon extinguished,
The birdlings in their nests
Left alone to fend, to dissipate,
To cower in their unforgiving sanctuary.

There cannot be a sweet ending,
With all reduced to dust,
The crackling of the forest floor,
The cackling of the needles thus,
The flame engorged like fatted pig,
The life force drained from fire’s lust.

The Voyage of the Leaves

The leaves, first silent,
Jump but a foot or two,
Scurrying past the dormant grass,
Across the morning dew.

The leaves, brown, wrinkled, weightless,
Skip over naked stones,
Raising the alarm,
Casting out the hollow tones.

The wind, lazy, curious, autumn wind,
Incites the leaves to dance,
Disturbs their calm surrender,
Imbues the scene’s romance.

The horizon, vacant, clear, beyond us,
Hurls its crimson claws,
Spits its lavender climax,
Begs the eye to pause.

The tyrant, attempts to still the ashes,
Attempts to claim the breeze,
Performs his fatal cha-cha,
Demands we bend the knee.

The vulgar, slack-jawed, voyeur,
Hears her tragic moan,
Feels the wind come whispering,
Despite his cursed throne,

The leaves, encompassing the moment,
Blow past the wilted heir,
Blow past the fetid waters,
Under the watchman’s glare.

The Fire Beckons

campfire

I see the flames as they dance in your eyes,
I hold your hands, I meet your gen’rous gaze,

The glow plays off your skin, the hearth it calls,
Beckons me forth, to stare but for a while.

To turn away seems wrong, a violent crime,
To hold your stare means missing Aries’ blaze.

The Imps that chase the tail of flick’ring fire,
They dart within the flames, loose crackling smile,

I cannot give to you the thing you ask,
My soul despises that which I must seek,

The embers call, the flame burns in my soul,
My love for you is hampered by their roar,

Sweet nothingness is what you ask of me,
I feel ashamed that I could be so weak.

At last I cannot take it anymore,
There is another lust I must explore.

I must turn from you,
‘Tis almost burnt through,

First charcoal, now white,
Soon crimson, new light.

My passions arise from within the fires,
I have lost my love to burning desires.

Who am I?

Tristan

Currently I am no one.

This is an experiment; a time to play and see where life can take me.  I like to write and so I have decided to do so. Seriously for once.  Enough talking.  I have done lots of that in the past.  For now, I will write.

I currently work in a fine dining restaurant, carrying heavy plates of over-priced protein accompanied by appropriate garnishes from one side of the room to the other.  I later collect those plates, hopefully a little lighter than when I dropped them off, and return them to the opposite side of the room.  Quite surprisingly, people willingly hand me large amounts of their hard earned money to do this menial task.

But what of satisfaction?  What of inspiration?  What of creativity?

I was educated at McGill University in the fields of Anthropology and Psychology.  I studied different aspects of various cultures and the people that formed them.  I’d like to think that I have learned a thing or two about humanity.

But what of Life?  Life is something different.

In this blog I would like to talk about life.  Not as it exists currently, perhaps.  But rather I would like to talk of life as it was supposed to exist.  A subtle difference, but a poignant one.  Some may call my writing fantasy.  Others may call it absurd.  I call it the Elementalist Epoch.  A time when fires ignited from within.  A place where mountains were moved with a word and oceans parted with a flick of the wrist.  A journey that ended only when the winds themselves became exhausted.

Welcome to my blog.

I hope it brings you as much joy to read as it brought me to create.