Rude

I should be mad right now

For I was once eating my lunch

A mere peanut quite hunched

And when it was stolen, I had a cow.

I only realized until late

That the infamous raven had stolen it

And flown away leaving me to have a fit

So my fingers were all I ate.

Oh, that raven! I thought 

And he flew away cackling.

Loyalty in our Confusion

I know I have written many poems
Said many things to you in vain
Sung indirectly many hymns 
Cried in the presence of the rain.

Therefore you must be confused by now
From all of the fleeting feelings I stress
And you understanding me, I do not know how
I am honored how you overcome my mess.

The same, to you I am loyal still
Keeping your love while sending my own
Equally and oppositely from my soul's will
Neither of us shall be alone.

Keeping each other tied to earth
Our hearts are flames in a hearth. 

Granted

We may think about death
as we live
and as we die
think about life

When we may take life for granted while living
we enjoy it while dying
and the ones we love
seem so longed for now

We may walk into the garden
and hear the music never heard before
and enjoy the wind more than usual
grazing through our hair

Slowly things pass
never to return exactly alike
with its predecessor  
and we wander the small forest trail

So where is the hope
as we step onward on the ragged stones
uncovering sharp obsidian and sweet flowers
and do not know when it will end? 

Swordplay

My dad taught me how to use the sword. He said to me once, "You will need it when you are in mental or emotional turmoil," and he would pick up his sword and hand it to me. We would practice dueling in the forest-- all sorts of dueling, mostly medieval swordplay where we would carry large, heavy swords, but sometimes other kinds of fighting, like fencing with a thin foil, or archery. I never understood what he meant by, "it would help me in mental or emotional turmoil." I would think, "Aren't these kinds of things physical? Surely one would use it for defending themselves from physical turmoil."

I never really connected anything. I lived in the forest, practically, and how could I, as an individual, possibly connect anything in my life? Indeed, I was innocent. But of course, father sent me out into the world as if on a draft of wind going by so fast. I went to a school for philosophy, psychology, and natural sciences, which were also mixed with artistic classes. I dropped the swordplay. My father never came to see me.

Leaned against the rail was an androgynous person, who had come from a small town and moved here to go to school because no other school would accept a person without a sex. This person called itself a "he," for personal reasons. I assumed he had been abused, a possible cause. He was chewing on something.
"I met you in class," he said to me, not even looking as I passed him by with my books almost squirming out of my hands. He had a small, red journal under his palm on the rail. I looked at him as he spoke.
"Yes?" I said. Perhaps I should stop to converse?
"Your name is Orlandis, yes?" he asked. I only nodded, yet somehow he knew and continued.
"I heard you do sword fighting. With your father. Or at least used to," he said.
How could he have known?

As if he read my mind, he turned around and faced me. His stare was blank yet wise, and he did have an androgynous look to him, kind of like me.
"I hear things. There is no need to worry," he said to me reassuringly. "I am not all that special. No special abilities. Nothing." He smiled.
I looked at him. How clever he was.
"I know some swordplay myself," he continued. "Perhaps you would like us to duel one free day?"
I nodded and smiled to him in return. I was honored to finally have someone to duel with, yet I had suspicions crawling around me, slimy.
"We could duel today," I said to him.
We agreed and did exactly that.

We picked up our swords on our way out to the field. Immediately as we arrived, he attacked, and it came as a horrifying surprise. I was fortunate enough my reflexes were fast and I blocked. We then fought for quite a while. He was much harder to fight than my father, although he was androgynous and looked frail. He was quick and strong as a mountain.
"Tell me your name," I yelled, avoiding a slash.
"Owen!" he said. 
That was the last we spoke that day.

I still did not understand what my father meant when he said swordplay would help defend me in mental, emotional turmoil. But one day I saw a bunch of boys slamming Owen to the ground on that same field we had dueled, in the exact same spot, yet Owen was not only looking frail, but being frail. I was scared for him and wanted to help, yet when he looked at me and smiled, blood seeping from his mouth, I became scared of him instead.

Later that day, girls came up to me, their fists clenched and stationed on their hips.
"Owen has debt to pay," was all they said, and they cursed me.
Debt?
Something told me his debt had to do with me. I did not understand. The girls called me slime, an idiot, stupid for even catching eye contact with Owen in the first place. They then said "Your father would kill him."

Then something clicked, like a new lock being tried for the first time. My father had something to do with Owen? Somehow, my mind was becoming torn and riled, and it seemed to pick up a sword.

I approached Owen timidly. It was only a few days after the boys had beaten him to the ground.
"Why did you let them do that to you?" I said.
"I see the girls have told you about my debt with your father," he said, avoiding the question, a slight smile on him. 
"What?" I said, overwhelmed.
I needed to figure out what was going on. My mind was clutching, swinging aimlessly. 
"I cannot be with you anymore, or one will have to kill the other," he said casually. "Or we can both be killed by your father."
"What debt have you to pay?" I said, stepping back.
"Oh, your father is a clever man," he said. "I told him I would kill someone for him, but I was a bit, let us see, timid about it one could say. He says that I owe him my life now. He said that if I ever meet his daughter, he would make her murder me. Unfortunately, there is a possibility you could be, ah, slaughtered. One could say-- he is pretty much using you for sacrifice."
I gaped. How could I respond to such a sudden flow of knowledge? Should I even believe Owen? 

My mind was finally aiming the sword. I understood now.


by Aberswyth N.T. Oct. 13, 2012

Taken as it Comes

Until the very last star turns yellow and old
Until it breathes its very last breath
There will be age and age again
Flowing like water and wind.
Until then you still grow, and expand in the mind

Leaving nothing but your memories and talents behind.
Some paths you have taken--
Your footprints may wash away
But they will be imprinted deeply in others.
So the other paths are dead
What does one do?
Run away? Lie there askew?
Or does one simply live life, or charge to the future?
Take what is needed only and live in adventure?
Either way, you are that star who takes another breath
Exploring a new Earth year to be lived for and lived in
And taken as it comes, it is there.

Smoking, Reclining

Picture myself

With silver scales

Golden wings

Iridescent eyes

Skin as hard as armor.

I am a nothing

A dragon, of course

Not male, not female

And matching

Is my name:

Zxero

Like the number zero

Full of nothing

Yet everything

For I am both of those

Yet none.

Picture myself

Reading a book

A small green book

Reclining on the rocks

Lungs of fire smoking

And icing

Smoking and icing—

A cycle lasting my eternity.

Learning

Flapped

Squawked

Lifted

Fell

Landed

Hurt

Leaned

Balanced

Flapped

Twisted

Lifted

Ascended

Flew

Wobbled

Balanced

Soared.