SikstaSlathalin
11-09-2009, 11:12 PM
Muse of the Winter Storm
As I step into the blizzard I search for my muse of the storm but feel only the chill wind on my skin.
My Muse is a fickle spirit; she can be cold and aloof or be kind and bless my mind with her kiss. She is the blinding beauty of the winter storm.
But I can’t feel her presence with me so I walk into her home in Boreas's Kingdom.
The trail takes me deep into the North Wind’s realm.
That is where I will find her, my muse of the Winter Storm.
My wandering brings me to a Grove where a massive and old tree sits its 5 tops lie bare and cold sprawling in every direction.
I can only surmise this to be the old lord of the forest now dead.
Surely she must be here dancing amongst the winds and snow.
But sadly this place is as desolate as the rest of the forest so I move on.
With just the whistle of the wind in my ears and my breath quietly escaping my lungs, I leave the old lord’s court faintly feeling her power.
I enter a massive field with a white hill in front and the dark heart of the forest to the west.
Stopping in my tracks an apprehension grips my heart.
Gazing toward the wood line the most primal of fears is there, the fear of the dark.
The unknown fear could be anything I’d guess, a beast, a spirit, or maybe the North Lord himself.
Quickening my pace I trot into the white light of the storm.
She is close I can almost see her.
The long white-blue hair, her white icicle robes flutter in the storm of her making.
Soon I find myself standing before a sea of brambles with out-bowed trees at its center.
The dead branches criss-cross before my path.
The chill wind seems to spin ‘round from this area spreading out over the kingdom.
I can feel it she’s here my muse is in the brambles.
Clearing my throat I plow headlong into the bushes so is my determination.
Slowly I make my way to the circle of trees.
With every second I feel her power grow over me until it’s a gale-force wind driving me through the bushes.
As I break through the last of the plants, the wind and snow stops suddenly.
There she is at the center of the bramble sea.
My Muse of the Winter storm.
As I step into the blizzard I search for my muse of the storm but feel only the chill wind on my skin.
My Muse is a fickle spirit; she can be cold and aloof or be kind and bless my mind with her kiss. She is the blinding beauty of the winter storm.
But I can’t feel her presence with me so I walk into her home in Boreas's Kingdom.
The trail takes me deep into the North Wind’s realm.
That is where I will find her, my muse of the Winter Storm.
My wandering brings me to a Grove where a massive and old tree sits its 5 tops lie bare and cold sprawling in every direction.
I can only surmise this to be the old lord of the forest now dead.
Surely she must be here dancing amongst the winds and snow.
But sadly this place is as desolate as the rest of the forest so I move on.
With just the whistle of the wind in my ears and my breath quietly escaping my lungs, I leave the old lord’s court faintly feeling her power.
I enter a massive field with a white hill in front and the dark heart of the forest to the west.
Stopping in my tracks an apprehension grips my heart.
Gazing toward the wood line the most primal of fears is there, the fear of the dark.
The unknown fear could be anything I’d guess, a beast, a spirit, or maybe the North Lord himself.
Quickening my pace I trot into the white light of the storm.
She is close I can almost see her.
The long white-blue hair, her white icicle robes flutter in the storm of her making.
Soon I find myself standing before a sea of brambles with out-bowed trees at its center.
The dead branches criss-cross before my path.
The chill wind seems to spin ‘round from this area spreading out over the kingdom.
I can feel it she’s here my muse is in the brambles.
Clearing my throat I plow headlong into the bushes so is my determination.
Slowly I make my way to the circle of trees.
With every second I feel her power grow over me until it’s a gale-force wind driving me through the bushes.
As I break through the last of the plants, the wind and snow stops suddenly.
There she is at the center of the bramble sea.
My Muse of the Winter storm.