Request: Coming of Age: Two Winters

I.
He is scared of the whiteness.
There is something dark and terrible about it –
the way it beats against the windows, finding all the seams and cracks;
the noises, the sighs and moans,
a phantom trying to get in.
The snow boxes him in, a small caged fox, pacing.
It wants to get in and chew him up.
It is some sort of creature, huge, uncontrollable, wild,
and all he wants is to put a muzzle on it
and make it stop.
Oh, for trees and grass; for brown and green;
the smell of the forest, the golden meltiness
of the sun.

II.
He longs for the whiteness.
There is something wild and wonderful about it;
the power of nature; its fury; its ancient, lonesome song.
He finds himself in its rage.
All his bones are longer now, and new knowledge
is embedded in his skin (new angers, new pain).
Funny how things have switched; how the snow seems safer than
the darkness in this house, darkness that seeps
all the seams and cracks; and all he wants to do
is open the windows and let it in.
To let it shake me, wring me,
turn me inside-out
and blow all the darkness away.

Request: Dreamland

Black and white makes things too clear;
I’d rather see in shades of gray.
You would be darker, of course, and I would be light,
but fundamentally we would be
the same.

We are in Dreamland, so I
can believe anything.
You are my Dream, my forbidden fruit –
your lips, your chest,
your slender wrists and fingers.
I want all your bits and pieces for my own.

But I am whiteness and you are black;
a simple truth that means
our futures can never intersect,
even here.

You have to trick others to steal their souls
when I would gladly give
you mine.

Request: Flamesong

Nano request to write about dragons (villanelle number four!)


Flamesong

The Firebeast rests beneath her wings
as every young one romps and plays
with all her jewels and pretty things.

When morning dawns and robin sings
she wakes, but, lingering, she stays.
The Firebeast rests beneath her wings

before, from mountaintop, she flings
herself into the golden rays.
She leaves her jewels and pretty things,

her crowns and goblets, coins and rings,
until, when dusk cloaks smoky days,
the Firebeast rests beneath her wings.

Feared by peasants, knights, and kings,
she calmly breathes their fields ablaze
and takes their jewels and pretty things.

The sun has set, and evening brings
cool breeze, and one last song to raise.
The Firebeast rests beneath her wings
with all her jewels and pretty things.