The Graffiti Wall:Poetry
A Dryad In Spring
(loses something in the translation from the original dryad but this is close)
Wake Up Wake Up
I sang to the tree… Spring has arrived
Cant you see, cant you see…
Unfurl your leaves, pump the sap through your heart..
Its time to Wake Up, and make a new start!
The cool Earth calls you to bury your Roots
The warm Sun calls you to push up new Shoots!
So much lost time that you have to make up..
Spring in here, Spring is here!, and its time to Wake Up!
I sing and I dance and I move and am free..
Hear me sing!, Hear me sing!.. I sang to the tree….
The World sings with joy and the reason is clear!
Wake up, Tree! Wake up! Spring is here, Spring is here!
The Tree stirred without movement, and spoke without sound,
With arms high in the air, roots deep in the ground..
I hear you young dryad, and your Song I take up
Winter is over and its time to Wake Up.
Yes yes! I sang. Wake up now, it is Time..
As I ran from the Oak to the Birch to the Pine
Hear me All, feel my Joy, I sang to the trees
From the mightiest Ancients, to the smallest of seeds..
We hear you, young dryad! The Trees called with Love,
With Roots down below and branches above.
The Sun in the Sky, the air, warm and clear
The Forest rejoices, Spring is here, Spring is here!
To the Mystery
To hear His tunes of wild despair,
Soft melodies that split the air,
Is to hear the final blessed call
When the breath of life abandons all.
The songs He sings are merrier still
When they celebrate the quiet kill,
When life and love are littered 'round,
And that which binds us stains the ground.
So open your eyes with jagged blades
And, even as your eyesight fades,
Staunch the flow with salt and mud
To cleanse your tainted, grieving blood.
Then you may go, lithe and clean,
And from Him greater mysteries glean.
Friend, listen for that tight-strung lyre
That frees you from the muck and mire,
To carry you beyond the Pale,
And lift from you the Shimmering Veil.
--Madrigal ap Unafel Colwythh
Shadow Poet of the Shimmering Veil
To the Mystery II
I hear her whispers,
She calls to me:
Cut through the bonds
of life, be free.
She starts to sing,
I have no choice,
I have to follow
her sweet voice.
To her pale beauty
I am drawn
until I find myself
at the cold harsh dawn.
Of her presence
there is no trace
but for lips unseen
that caress my face.
'Soon' she promises,
I touch my cheek.
It is wet with tears.
To touch the fatal face
That hovers past the Pale,
Observe the lovely grace
Of a stillborn's mother's wail.
To hear the ancient note
That sings you to your rest,
Grab your lover by the throat
And give your strength a test.
To taste the bitter fruit
Of years lived unfulfilled,
Pull up your rotten root
And pray you will be tilled.
To see the spark that dies
When life at long last ebbs,
Listen for the orphan's cries
While watching Widows in their webs.
To smell the subtle scent
Of death long overdue,
Seek out the faithful penitent
And with cold steel be true.
And cast aside the glove
That binds your soul to thee,
And let the crimson stains of love
Set all your senses free.
-Madrigal ap Unafel Colwythh
Shadow Poet of the Shimmering Veil
Here he comes, deep in the night:
Shadow-cloaked, silent threat.
The moment you have him in your sight
Too late, too late, your fate is met.
Softly sings the wicked blade,
Gasping draw your final breath.
Feel the urge to struggle fade.
Find the sweet release of death.
The Assassin II
Candlelight, expensive wine,
A lady of a beauty rare,
Looking in her gown so fine.
Surely love is in the air.
She raises her glass to her lips.
Her gold-flecked green eyes smile at you.
Her breasts, the soft curves of her hips,
she is too good to be true.
You feel a faintness in your head
And you wonder as you fall
Although her glass and her lips met,
Did she really drink at all?