A Poetry Prompt

Good Morning Everyone!

I’m waiting for my Beta Readers to get back with their comments about Book 2! I need to get working on a synopsis and book cover design, but that’s about it. I may do one more edit prior to publication. But, as always, I will keep everyone updated!

Until then, I’ve come across a very short, but powerful writing prompt. Here we go!

We will never be those children again.

A gun in hand. A trembling finger,

Truly too afraid to pull the trigger.

Hiding in ruins and sleeping in tents,

Dreams crying out in a silent lament.

Moon and sun both burn so bright,

Awaiting the moving shadows in the night.

They come with fire and they bring death,

Waves of men, coming like an eternal breath.

Cries of children like mourning birds,

Their cries through the world, remain unheard.

But we go on, forever more.

This is who we are, the product of war.

The House of Storm and Stars

It sat atop a hill. Perched. Looming over the town with an ominous energy. Tales told of a young woman bearing a fog that remained each day. But she found beauty in the turmoil, speaking spells and brewing potions for the town. At first, they rejected her ways and shunned her wares, but she assured them that she was made of earth and wished to connect the humans with their roots once again.

“I have grown fond of all things green,” she would say. “We have broken our connection with the Spirit of all that lives. I once traveled across the continent, healing others with the very earth at their feet. But I have decided to settle here and allow those who seek healing find me.”

Perhaps it was her soft voice or her small figure, but the town gradually grew to like the young witch. By summer, she told them her name. “Camellia, like the flower.” Suddenly, Camellia flowers began to bloom in the quiet little town.

From far and wide, people came to Camellia for healing and peace. She not only mended their physical wounds, but their spiritual wounds as well. Whomever her magic touched, flowers would bloom. Each night, she would return to her home and more of the fog would drift away. The twilight would be clear above, twinkling with other universes. On full moon nights, you could see her on the highest balcony, staring up at the sky.

Throughout the years, many tried to win Camellia’s heart. But each time, she politely refused. “My heart belongs to the Earth. I cannot do the work I do if I were to give my heart to you.” To those who were close to her healing knew that with each rejection, she was strengthening herself and her craft.

Although her face stayed young with each passing year, her wisdom grew. The townspeople protected her and understood that she was not of this world. She was a gift. If anyone wronged her, they would stand at her side… but she never needed them to fight for her.

“Nature creates beauty,” she explained. “But sometimes beauty can be deadly when trifled with.” A handful of patrons would ever test Camellia’s kindness, only to end up on the bad end of a curse.

Soon, the witch decided to train others in her craft. Those who were willing to give themselves to nature began to train with Camellia in the town. When they had been anointed in the ancient art, they could decide to remain in the town or spread magic elsewhere. In mere years, over fifty people of all ages became one with the earth, just as Camellia had.

Decades passed and more flowers spread past the town’s borders. The fog at the house on the hill had completely vanished and Camellia was joyful. But one day, she did not come down from her home. The townspeople became worried as a dark cloud formed over the shack, bringing cascading rain and booming thunder.

But no one had ever ventured to her home and they were afraid. Some thought that she had perished and the earth was upset. Others feared that she had become evil. Three women braved the trek up to the gates and attempted to peer inside. Nothing. The candles had been extinguished and it did not appear that anyone was home. One of Camellia’s disciples took the initiative to open the door, the other two following close behind her.

The floor seemed vacant. A thin blanket of dust laid upon it. The women hesitantly spread out and searched the home. It was in her room that they found it. A letter. Scrawled in black ink and addressed to the town.

My time is over. Thank you for accepting me. Think of my tears when the rain falls. Think of my voice when the wind blows. Think of my eyes when the stars twinkle. But think of my legacy. It is in your hands now. I go back to nature to watch over you. Until next time. Camellia.

The town adopted the name of Camellia for the woman who showed them how beautiful nature could be. Those she had trained continued her work and trained others. Today; psychics, empaths, and healers are descendants of that woman. Trust in yourself, and trust in your gift.

Coming off a Hiatus

Good Day All!

Quick update. I’m reading through Preservation one final time before sending it to the beta readers. So I’m one step closer to finalizing it prior to publication! This year has been a year of change for me. I have tried to spend some of it enjoying myself, but have had a tumultuous year nonetheless. My goal was to have Book 2 published by Christmas, but unfortunately, that isn’t going to happen. I will do my best to expedite the final changes and get it out ASAP!

I’m so sorry I haven’t been as active as I would like. Life gets busy, especially towards the end of the year! I’ll do my best to at least keep everyone updated 🙂 Thank you for all the support!

Red Flames of Mist

Sorry I haven’t been posting as frequently as usual! I’ve been trying to get editing done for Book 2 of The Wanderer Trilogy. It is still in the works, but I hope to have a solid update for everyone soon.

Standing against the back of Summer in wake of Autumn’s chill,

I find myself yearning for a world of whimsical fantasy.

My eyes open and behold a fiery land just beyond my reach,

Mists ripple in waves pass overhead, red and pink and yellow.

Ablaze the sky above, Arise the morning sun.

Harvest Moon to Harvest Sun, greets with eerie beauty.

I am present to it’s wake and sentinel to it’s arrival,

Autumn is here, Autumn is here, I announce to the Earth.

Roots spread from my soles, take root and ground me to the infinite below.

From my crown, a tingling cloud reaches up to greet the sky,

Connecting me to the infinite above.

The sky above becomes more calming as the sun rises more,

But beauty still remains, only a glimpse of the moments before linger.

Standing against the back of Summer I greet Autumn’s chill.

Like an old friend it wraps me up in it’s embrace,

The future is uncertain, Winter’s blankets will find me soon.

For now I relish the moments that nature beholds it’s true beauty.

That the end of green has arrived, but will come again.

I await the season’s, one by one, and stand witness to it.

The Guardians

These are those who never meet. Two a pair who pass by, greet and bid farewell in mere moments. Four of them appear so beautifully in their own way, but arrive with their own varied majesty.

The first is the swift eldest. Delicate while content; angered and she will unleash a fury unmatched by her kin. Clad in robes of white and grey, tinged with black filigree. Fingertips caress the greenery, leaving behind skeletons, dark footprints, and remnants of life. Her duty is not only necessary, it is vital to the cycle.

Some call her ‘the angel of death’ as she brings such a brisk chill. Her very aura is frigid and her beauty is no exception. Long, wavy strands of silver twilight hanging like Holiday ribbons around her soft, pale face. Eyes reminiscent of a pale snow against an aqua sky and lips as red as frost-nipped toes. And like her mood, her voice rises and falls against the wind.

Lucky are those who witness her dissent onto the world and the bittersweet truth she carries. Not all endings should be tearful. There is sun over the horizon.

***

When the white goddess departs for the cycle, her brother takes the stage and steals the show. Suddenly the earth springs to life as seedlings take root and rise towards the warmth of the sun. Primavera is his name, though others speak variations of it.

As he calms his sister’s lingering spirit, the frost softens and moves deep within the dirt, glistening and giving life to that which was once dead. Hibernating animals awaken their long slumber to the thawing world of color. Eyes open to the blooming trees and pastures of wildflowers. And the intoxicating scents of him and the trail he leaves behind.

Primavera watches over the earth for a time. His humbly tan tunic and mahogany trousers weave through the evergreen forests with the wind tousling his auburn hair. As the pale chill finally exits the air and the remnants of his sister disappear. This is now his domain.

But soon, the end will come for him to return at the next cycle. With tears of sorrow and joy, he bids the earth goodbye as the next Guardian passes by to await their turn. He greets them with a warm smile, the last cool breeze floats across the land as his feet leave the ground in a final farewell.

***

Earth takes a deep inhale and patiently awaits the strongest of the four. She ascends upon the earth like a shroud, suffocating it with nearly unbearable heat. Harsh is her voice as it whips through the dunes of the Sahara and grasslands of Australia. She takes her job with pride as waves of humidity burrow through the swamps allowing life to flourish despite the heat.

Although her reign is known throughout, her reach does not extend to the poles of the globe. As large as she is, she cannot encompass that which her frozen counterpart can. Her fiery, red hair touches the dry ground and lights it afire. Eyes as dark as soot scan her domain for more work that needs to be done.

Understand, her very existence, when in balance with the other Guardians, is necessary. Purging the overgrown forests into a wasteland allows the others to rekindle the life below the surface. She can bring the rains to replenish what she has rightfully destroyed and, at the same time, reek havoc with cyclones across the Alley.

She is finicky and emotional, very aware of the state in which humanity is leaving her beloved earth. More and more, she angers and rebels with flames, wind, water, and earth. But each cycle, to no avail. When her time comes to leave again, she expresses her sadness one last time.

***

Finally, the last of the cycle appears gradually, taking delicate care to erase all that the fire has set ablaze. She prepares for the beginning all over again. For snow and frost. Melodic songs of dreams begin to lull the trees to sleep as she shivers off the reds, yellows, and oranges all around.

The one that comes after is a shadow of this one’s beauty. Automne, they call her, name just as entrancing as her voice. Hues of gold-laced chocolate fall from the top of her head, a crown of silver maple leaves placed daintily on top. Because she works so closely with the one before and the one after her time, she bears one crystal and one deep grey eye. In tales, they call her the In-Between or the Guardian of Limbo for her notable work in the cycle.

Automne takes a secret pleasure in walking through the leaf-laiden grounds. Cobblestone just below the crunching colors at her feet, she will inhale a scent of warmth deeply, exhaling the foreshadow of what is to come. And those around her, flora and fauna alike, relish her existence while she lingers here.

But even beauty is not forever. When her time comes, the world weeps and awaits her return with bated breath. As the first takes her place and feet touch the soft grass, a single tear slides down Automne’s face and turns her back once again. Into oblivion she travels until her next turn.

It took me 3 days to write this because I’ve been so busy. Sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoyed! 🙂