The Bard’s Sword – V -

The Bard’s Sword -V-
by Jonas Hyde

-V-

This now truly leads,
to a question I must ask,
if ones words speak softer than action,
then which shall find more favour,
her sword or my pen?

For it is my task,
to offer satisfaction,
and in my ain war ne’er waver,
proving once and then again,
I am now reformed.

Avoid distraction,
and let my soul be braver,
than in the past so possibly then,
my ending can be transformed,
from darkness to light.

And then my savior,
I shall whisper soft amen,
and when my final act is performed,
I shall whisper a goodnight,
signaling the end.

So you among men,
have now been duly informed,
by my Bard’s Sword of my wretched plight,
and my soul I shall defend,
in this Tempter’s war.

The Bard’s Sword – IV -

The Bard’s Sword -IV-
by Jonas Hyde

-IV-
As if told by Grimm,
there is far more I could say,
but with brevity I must now speak,
else my points will all be lost,
ne’er to be ‘stood.

So I plead and pray,
my future will not be bleak,
for in truth I have not paid the cost,
not like Sera had withstood,
I surely have not.

She stood at the peak,
and it was then our stars crossed,
and this bard who long misunderstood,
last learned what Tempter forgot,
‘bout self, life, and time.

So now I accost,
those who heed not as they should,
with this skill my wicked soul has bought,
the subtle proof of my crime,
words lasting fore’er.

For bad or for good,
will my efforts lead to naught,
just He knows the answer to that rhyme,
so I ne’er shall say ne’er,
and tempt outcome ill.

The battle she fought,
is so unlike my own climb,
her clash was a valiant endeavour,
a result of His own will,
whereas I’m alone.

Lone and past my prime,
No longer acting clever,
my soul does humility now fill,
and for much I must atone,
with glorious deed.

The Bard’s Sword – III -

The Bard’s Sword – III -
by Jonas Hyde

-III-

These thoughts came to me,
too little too late it seems,
tho’ I pray He learns of my new course,
and as with Sera I’m saved,
from the Tempter’s hold.

Tho’ my silent screams,
echo words which I oft’ force,
I traded my quill for life depraved,
sacrificing soul I sold,
for words that enchant.

Ignoring remorse,
led to choices misbehaved,
but it was these truths I learned twofold,
He offers what Tempter cant,
and sin is not free.

So now I’m enslaved,
in the wings of Tempter’s fold,
hoping for gifts only He can grant,
salvation offered to me,
in the guise of chance.

Can I be so bold,
as to plead such a porous rant,
can one see the truth I speak to thee,
or do my words ‘stead entrance,
cloaking horrid truth?

The answers are scant,
verity for you to see,
to find meaning in the Tempter’s dance,
playing now a moral sleuth,
a role I had failed.

I wanted to flee,
but was absorbed in His glance,
regardless of manner so uncouth,
virtue o’er sin prevailed,
bringing me to point.

I survived this dance,
started early in my youth,
in ways I have otherwise detailed,
so I dare not disappoint,
time to start anew.

Now long in the tooth,
with sinful exploits curtailed,
it is not Tempter I now anoint,
for he I long bid adieu,
in favour of Him.

The Bard’s Sword -II-

The Bard’s Sword -II-
by Jonas Hyde

The Bard’s Sword is a follow-up piece to the Seraph’s Song

-II-

Now with visage turned,
virtue born from darkened sin,
as wine from water or gold from lead,
my alchemist’s soul breathes free,
echoing rebirth.

How long has it been,
since I heard the words He said,
spoken to her tho’ received by me,
offering eternal worth,
in exchange for self.

So to truth I wed,
with sword of quill, ink, and He,
to right the wrongs of my Tempter’s mirth,
that came from within myself,
hoping for salvation.

My soul is the fee,
which is ripe with Tempter’s dearth,
so I must put such sins on the shelf,
give up the adulation,
and stead strive for hope.

Hope for all on earth,
may my plight remind oneself,
life without regard breeds damnation,
a truism without scope,
so please heed these words.

You can save yourself,
by soul’s capitulation,
hang thy sin from a carpenter’s rope,
and pledge your soul into thirds,
to dad, son, and ghost.

Avoid temptation,
and learn by fire to cope,
so you can fly with angels and birds,
which is what I long for most,
but shalln’t ever see.

The Bard’s Sword -I-

The Bard’s Sword -I-
by Jonas Hyde

The Bard’s Sword is a follow-up piece to the Seraph’s Song

-I-

Its been days and more,
since I penned the Seraph’s Song,
and journey far I have in days since,
in search of truth forgotten,
carrying my bard’s sword.

For all my life long,
I have known the Tempter Prince,
creator of sin misbegotten,
‘til with Sera I explored,
sacrifice so grand.

A ballad evinced,
I wept from crimes so rotten,
not of placid ignorance o’ Lord,
so penance you should demand,
of I knelt ‘fore you.

My charmed life so oft’,
I strived only for reward,
be it woman’s soul or sire’s land,
I used my pen to accrue,
heat from hearth and thighs.

Tho’ by own accord,
in truth I now know firsthand,
by cause of her sacrifice so true,
sinful life I must revise,
‘else nothing was learned.

The Days and Nights of Sir Alistair Helling: The House of Ill Repute

The Days and Nights of Sir Alistair Helling: The House of Ill Repute
By Jonas Hyde

Intriguing,
it is to this certain self,
how I e’er find myself in situations,
particularly ones such as this chronicle ‘fore you.

The duality of my nature,
has been the cause of untold troubles,
trials,
tribulations,
and the ills I find myself amongst,
are not a consequence of my inherent malevolence,
but quite contrary,
the prevalence of conscience.

O’ how things,
and life,
would be such simpler,
if I kept to the course of my skills.

Walking the crowds,
pilfering the purses,
and engaging in the swift-witted grifts,
the lies which have brought me affluence throughout the years.

Howe’er,
I find it is the lighter side of self,
the father,
the bard within,
which forces my hand into the duty,
so oft called ‘pon by the Yard.

And as so repeatedly in the past,
such was the cause of my current quandary.

You see,
there stood I,
o’er the corpse of a young lady,
age somewhere betwixt,
that of my daughter’s,
and my own.

Blood was strewn,
about the cobblestone,
and self.

And it was then,
when the very official who enlisted my aid,
gazed ‘pon me with distress,
with disdain.

T’was a light,
I ne’er expected him,
to regard myself in.

I longed to clarify to him,
as I shall soon explain to you,
that not all was as it seemed,
tho’ I knew,
he understood the truth more than any,
but foremost,
I consider it prudent,
to relay ‘pon you the details,
which led me to that particular place,
and situation in time.

For in itself,
you would think it fitting,
for someone with my dubious history.

Ne’ertheless,
I assure you,
not only was I called ‘pon,
but my placement in that alley,
was the child of noble intent,
coupled with ill fortune.

So as alluded,
Lord Bixby,
the prefect of Scotland Yard at the time,
had enlisted my aid on cases of the past,
which had brought him the most difficulty in solving.

The reasoning he oft relayed to me was,
“What better way to catch a worldly criminal,
than to be armed with such an intellect.”

Now I must confess ‘pon this,
I myself find my skills to be more common,
mundane if you will,
rather than in the realm of some criminal architect,
but I deem my title to have been earned by the reality,
that even tho’ Lord Bixby knew me best,
having been in relations since our earliest years,
even he had ne’er been able,
to convey sufficient testimony against my past actions.

And while he had always been quite confident,
that my affluence was gathered by questionable measures,
[whilst coupled with the awareness,
that I had ne’er laboured a day of my life,
and my lineage bore no fruit of nobility or monies],
he was ne’er able to amass adequate evidence.

Even with all this knowledge,
he had ne’er,
outwardly it seemed,
been able to find victim to my crimes,
nor was he able to pursue the prosecution of my guilt.

So in protection of our longstanding closeness,
we adopted an implicit decree,
not to tread ‘pon each other’s lives as far as our ‘professions’ went,
so we would ne’er have to imagine crossing such intricate lines.

It would save me an era of imprisonment if he were to apprehend me,
and for him,
a lifetime of mortification,
since he ne’er would.

O’er the years,
my position had developed within the community,
as my actions shifted to long-standing grifts,
that seemed more lawful,
more moral even,
than the lives of most politicians.

That,
and my witty banter,
they had helped forge myself,
as near legitimate a presence,
as I could e’er have anticipated.

But to point,
o’er the years,
and as a favour,
Lord Bixby had enlisted my aid,
in catching those who had eluded he,
and all of his finest officers.

Indeed,
it is typically my place,
to catch all of those,
who Scotland Yard cannot.

And whilst I do not claim to be as cunning,
shrewd,
or intuitive,
as some of the literary figures you may be familiar with,
I would reason it to be my exploits,
that such imaginative figures,
and stories,
would be based.

So as in past,
Lord Bixby came to me,
just prior to dawn,
with a look of the utmost distress ‘pon his face.

“He struck again,”
his words hung thick,
and deep,
in the air.

Now it took neither criminal mastermind,
nor sleuth,
to know who He was.

For nearly the last two months,
the body of a young lady would oft be found,
just prior to dawn,
in the precise manner my friend would soon find me o’er,
as I detailed earlier.

At the time of this dialogue tho’,
my innocence was not yet in question,
and as such,
the death of that particular eve,
was the cause of finding him,
now in my study,
chewing on the root he so oft used to cure his nerves.

It was a habit I too used to share,
but found it excessively difficult to keep my senses about me,
which can prove costly in my line of work.

And whilst it was a difficult endeavor to cease such a habit,
the end result,
was well worth the imposed torture.

But there ‘fore me,
was Lord Bixby,
root and all,
filling my study,
with both girth,
and gloom,
regarding with a certain fervor,
the most recent slaying.

“Ahh,”
I replied in response,
“and I can see by your countenance,
that the situation is dire,
and by your presence,
that my aid is required.”

“Required,
requested,
or demanded-,
truly your choice my friend,
tho’ the answers I warn,
are as fleeting as a summer’s innocence.”

“And I thought I was the poet,”
I said as I offered him a seat,
whilst obtaining one for myself.

“Yes,
well this root offers more than just a bitter taste,
as you know.”

“All too well-,
so tell me Bixby,
what precisely do we know?”

With that inquiry,
my friend at last sat down,
and for a long while,
just stared off into the nothingness.

I knew better than to interrupt,
because this was a question,
devoid of a true answer.

The reality was,
he knew little,
or even nothing at all,
hence his coming to me.

Howe’er,
my query was intended more for unraveling truth from rumour,
as hearsay,
and conjecture,
had been spreading like wildfire through both society,
and press.

At long last,
Lord Bixby finally responded,
whilst still staring out vacantly,
“We know it is the work of a man…”

“The Ripper?”
I asked,
waiting to gauge his reaction.

Turning to me,
he answered only with a glare.

The Ripper,
was a title issued by the press.

In their longing to dramatize the murders,
and increase the sale of papers,
they started a plague of panic,
which only made the situation,
and pressures weighted against my friend,
all that much worse.

“Well you have to admit,
it is catchy,
but name aside,
is it He you are speaking of?”

“Yes,”
Bixby finally responded.

“And how can I help?”
I questioned,
knowing we both knew the answer.

“If I must ask,
then perhaps I came to the wrong place?”

With that,
Bixby slowly made his way to his feet,
and began heading to the doorway,
in a manner even more enigmatic than his entrance.

This sport,
of cat,
and mouse,
had its moments at times,
but in all seriousness,
the death toll was mounting,
and we both knew,
that without my help,
things would only get worse.

So,
playing his game,
and to his ego,
I begged with only a hint of sarcasm,
“No please,
sit back down.”

And before he could rub it in,
I continued on,
“So what else do we know?
Beyond his gender…”

“What we know,
may not be real enough to count on,
so as an alternative,
I suggest that perhaps we visit the scene,
which spawned my visit.”

Eager for the chance,
I knew he was right.

Likely what Bixby himself,
and his detectives,
discerned from the locale,
would not be on par with my own assumptions,
so I jumped ‘pon the opportunity.

With that,
I stood,
removed my own coat from the stand neighboring the entryway,
and with an urge of the hand,
ushered Bixby out of my flat.

Stepping out,
the night air was cool,
and thick,
and was the first thing I noticed.

Secondly,
was the phase of the moon,
neither full,
nor rich,
as one would expect in such a story.

In fact,
it was quite the contrary,
barely noticeable even,
beyond the thick fog of the night air.

Finally,
was the slight,
but consistent drizzle,
so familiar here.

This London rain,
would quickly wash away the sanctity of the crime scene,
and as a result,
I felt it prudent,
to rush our step.

Without a word,
I picked up my pace,
in hope that Bixby would mimic my actions.

He may be the guide,
but it was I,
who would lead this dance.

And to plan,
that he did.

Surprisingly,
our destination was not far.

In fact,
I was surprised at the proximity to my own location,
and pondered why,
I had not yet become intimate with the details of the case.

“Have all the crimes been neighboring to this?”

“All within a few miles yes,”
Bixby answered,
while motioning the officers to stand back as we approached.

Truth be told,
his answer did not please me.

Here I was,
supposed to be the one adept at the skills of perception,
and I had no clue,
the crimes were taking place,
in my own,
figurative backyard.

That revelation,
made me look upon this scene,
with all that much more intensity,
and scrutiny.

‘Pon arrival,
I let my senses work together in concert,
as I surveyed the scene.

Though there were officers about,
and nature herself had blanketed the scene with her tears,
I took in a great deal.

The victim,
seemingly in her early twenties,
was a working jane,
obvious by her dress,
which was a bit sparse considering the weather of the night prior,
and quite unbecoming for a proper girl.

What was more noticeable tho’,
was the lack of a struggle.

No defensive wounds laced her arms.

In fact,
and surprisingly so,
her body as a whole seemed especially soft,
and supple for one in her dress.

That abnormality aside,
the lack of such defensive wounds,
suggested she knew her attacker,
and did not fight back,
against the crime that was committed ‘pon her.

Oh,
and what a crime.

Her intestines lay in her hands,
cradled as if a newborn.

The wounds tho’,
were neither jagged,
nor curved,
but clean,
straight,
and ascending,
as if originating beneath a physician’s blade.

This was the second curiosity.

As I was scrutinizing the corpse,
Bixby approached,
chewing ‘pon his root with an enhanced vigor.

After a gaze,
which lasted more than a beat,
and a breath,
he finally asked my opinion,
“So my friend,
what do you see?”

I pointed out the obvious,
and the not so,
much as I had just relayed,
in my words to you.

However,
as for deductions,
or theories,
I held such thoughts to myself,
close to my ain proverbial breast.

I simply shared what any expert in the field would have noticed,
and then made my goodbye.

“I apologize my dear friend,”
I said to Bixby as I patted him on the back whilst turning about,
“but I am afraid my stomach can handle only so much,
so I must take my leave.”

He responded only with a half smile,
and a nod of thanks for the trip I had made,
but offered little more.

As I was walking away,
I suggested he not hesitate to call ‘pon me,
if,
or rather when,
a next victim surfaced,
for the more data I could compile,
the more I could divulge.

It was this offering,
that received the most response,
as he thanked me for my time verbally,
and then quickly,
ordered the corpse to be bagged,
and removed.

Days went by,
and for what seemed like the longest time,
I heard nothing new of the killings,
from neither my friend,
nor the press.

Til of course the eve,
that came with a knock ‘pon my door.

Prepared,
I simply called out,
“Feel free to enter Lord Bixby.”

The door opened slowly,
as the officer peeked in his head.

Glancing ‘round,
he then focused on me,
and questioned,
“How did you know it was me?”

With a disarming smile I responded,
“I have few friends,
and even fewer visitors,
but I fear your visit is not a fanciful waste of an eve?”

“I’m afraid not,
in fact,
quite the contrary.”

“Well then my friend,
you must come in,
and tell me what has happened.”

With his step,
came a soft breeze,
heightened in the funnel,
betwixt the open window,
and door.

The soft scent of lilacs filled the air,
and reminded me of my manners,
for you see,
the scent of root,
especially when housed in cedar,
emits a similar odour.

Standing as Bixby sat,
I walked over to a small wooden case resting on my bookshelf,
and removed it.

Then opening it in front of my friend,
I offered him one.

Bixby peered at the box,
and within,
noticing the results of my hobby.

“I thought you gave up the root?”
he asked me as he pulled one from the case.

“Ah,
I did the taste,
howe’er,
I still find the collection of such rarities,
a fine distraction of mundane life,
besides,
I enjoy the temptation,
and imagine at some point,
I shall give in once more,
and when I do,
I will long for the most specific of tastes.

“Well thank you much,”
Bixby said,
as he put the thicker end,
of a large piece,
into his mouth.

Satisfied with his contentment,
I placed the box down,
and began,
“So what has happened now?”

“More of the same I’m afraid.”

“So the killer has struck again?”

“I’m afraid so,
in fact,
the pace seems to be quickening,
forcing the need to wrap this up,
‘fore it gets too far out of control.”

“Was it another girl?”

“Yes,
and in fact,
they have all been girls,
six now in total,
all young,
beautiful,
and seemingly,
the more striking the bird,
the more vicious the crime.”

“And I should assume that her arms,
and face even,
were free from bruising?”

“Yes in fact,
how did you know?”

I merely pass off his question,
as if I did not hear it.

In years past,
Bixby would have let it go,
and simply waited for my next response,
knowing I would have reason not to answer.

But these were not the times of yesteryear,
and Bixby was not the same man he was.

Be it by cause of root,
or stress,
or simply the advancement of age,
his temperament was laced with more impatience then e’er ‘fore.

Glaring at me,
he added this time with added curiosity,
as if to read my own body,
“Please,
your insight intrigues me.”

Tho’ I did not want to tell him my truest thoughts,
I felt a blatant fabrication would go too noticed.

So,
in the vein of finding a medium I replied,
“Well it seems she was comfortable around her attacker,
and maybe even knew him,
or her,
personally.”

The tail end of that statement had the effect I desired.

“Her?”
he asked.

“Oh now please,
you must tell me more,
for gender was about the only thing I thought we knew surely,
and to be wrong on even that would be truly embarrassing,”
he added as he sat forward,
gazing at me intently.

“Well,
to rule out the fact,
that a female would be capable of these crimes,
would by erroneous at best,
and an utter miscalculation at worst.

There has not been a requirement of strength needed to commit them,
only a sadistic nature,
and such nature is not gender specific.”

“Ah so true my friend,
and in fact,
I have known women who would fit such a bill.”

“I doubt that not,”
I replied with a sly grin.

“In fact,”
I said as I continued with point,
“I have oft pondered,
how a girl as innocent as my little Poe,
could end up,
as dastardly as some of the women I have met in my time,
yet I must remind myself,
that each of them was a daughter of innocence,
at some point prior to their sins.”

Bixby nodded silently in agreement,
seemingly half-lost in his own thoughts.

He then asked,
“Speaking of your Poe,
how is she enjoying school?”

“Very well it seems,
and in fact,
I was just about to pen her a letter when you arrived,
but I must confess,
being apart is likely harder on me,
than it is her.”

Silence permeated,
as we both became fully lost in our thoughts.

Tho’ I missed my daughter with a deep intensity,
I knew that her education,
and growth,
would excel if at a proper school,
rather than learning the facts of life by my side.

I fear and confess,
it was her mother,
who had the strength of moral character,
to be the parent,
and since our loss of her,
I have been ill-equipped to handle such upbringing myself,
but truth be told,
given the ravenous crimes surrounding this locale,
this may have been the first,
and only time,
I was thankful my Poe was far,
and away.

Then suddenly,
breaking through the veil of our thoughts,
Bixby stood up,
and next added,
“Well,
let us go,
‘fore the scene is no longer fresh enough to offer insight.”

As we did prior,
we headed off,
and as the last time,
it once again was in the vicinity of my ain home.

In fact,
the distance itself was almost exact,
howe’er,
the direction was nearly opposite.

We arrived after a short time,
and along the way,
Bixby nary uttered a word toward me.

The silence was off-putting,
but understandable,
given the weight of that,
which was on his mind.

‘Pon arrival,
the area was lined with the law.

Patrol men,
as well as seasoned detectives,
were scouring the scene.

I found it odd,
that while seemingly everyone else was here,
Bixby had been with me.

Either he knew something the rest did not,
or was at such a loss,
my aid was his only hope.

I surveyed the area,
and once again,
the victim was as times prior.

Youthful.

Attractive.

Tho’
in correlation I was sure,
her wounds were also similar to the previous.

Vicious.

Brutal.

Howe’er,
there was something else.

This woman seemed strangely familiar,
as tho’ I had seen her ‘fore.

It was obvious by examination,
and word,
that she carried the same profession as the other victims,
but it had been so long,
since it was mainly in a previous life,
that I frequented such girls of the night,
so her familiarity,
at first at least,
I could not place.

As I looked around,
the scene seemed overtly calm,
and clinical,
despite the raw carnage.

Whoe’er our villain was,
seemed to have cleaned the area concisely,
yet orchestrated the killing,
with a fierce brutality.

Howe’er,
this victim too,
seemed to have no wounds of defense,
just as Bixby had said,
and as I had deduced.

It was then,
when I wanted to see no more,
so I turned ‘round to leave.

And as I did,
the faint smell of lilacs,
akin to what I picked up earlier from Bixby,
drifted by my nose.

It was clear Bixby had come to visit me,
after his arrival on scene,
with the others from Scotland Yard.

The scent however,
was much more beautiful in the comfort of my own home,
as opposed to surrounding the carnage of this scene.

The beauty from one sense,
intermingling with the ugliness from another,
was truly torturous,
yet,
I could not place why.

All I knew for sure,
was that I had to leave,
and so I did,
partially to escape the sin,
and partially to give myself the opportunity,
to process all that I had learned.

Unfortunately for me,
tho’ the signs were there,
it was not until this next part of the story,
that I truly put it all together.

But ‘fore we return to the beginning of this story,
there is a bit more to go,
so to continue on,
as ‘fore,
days passed,
and I heard,
neither of murders in the press,
nor word from Bixby.

Til the third night came,
and with it,
a knock on my door once more.

With the curfew pon the city,
born of fear,
rather than law,
I knew,
as I did prior,
that my visitor was none other,
than Bixby himself.

I urged for him to enter,
and as he did,
he sat immediately down.

“Hello,
my friend,”
he said to me with a smile ‘pon his face.

Now I must admit,
this took me a bit aback,
because his presence of late,
had always been ‘pon the heels of death,
and if this was another such visit,
his mirth seemed out of place.

“Not one to bypass pleasantries,
for I do so appreciate your greeting,
but you seem a bit too happy,
given the nature of your visit.”

“Oh no,
oh no,
my friend,
you have it all wrong.”

“I do?”

“Yes of course,
for I’m not here based on the premise you think.”

“So there is not another death?”

“Not yet thankfully,
no,
I’m here,
in fact,
because there has not been another death.”

Usually the astute one,
Bixby’s words had me confused,
and I must admit,
at this moment,
he had me outwitted as well.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Standing,
he leaned over,
and offered me a root of his own batch.

As he did,
I noticed a familiar scent ‘pon his clothing,
and ‘pon the skin of his neck,
the mark of a woman.

Smiling,
I tried to turn down his offering,
politely with a short wave,
but he insisted.

“I do not wish to be rude,”
I said.

“So then do not,”
he responded,
“share with me,
for it is my apology,
so please accept.”

“Apology for what exactly?”
I inquired,
as I finally gave in.

Now you must understand,
I knew this action to be against my better judgment,
but felt it required,
because you see,
curiosity,
plan,
and desire,
were all of greater strength,
than that of my own will,
which in truth,
I have never been one to offer,
as my strongest trait.

So a small piece I took.

Bixby then sat back down,
still smiling,
as I began to take in the scent of the root,
which was particularly tempting.

It was not necessarily the fact that I had it in my hands,
after all,
cultivating root as hobby put it in my hands often.

No,
there was something about this particular root,
something that called me to it,
something that pulled the strings of past habit.

“Go on,
enjoy,
it was a gift from a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,
someone who you may know from a past life,
but with whom,
I have kept up,
a quite regular in fact,
rapport.”

“Oh,
have you now?”

“Yes,
but that is for later,
because for now,
I beg you to indulge,
and I shall answer your question,
as to why I am here.”

I admit,
I am not as strong a man in character as I should,
or could be,
and so as Bixby began talking,
I put the root to my lips,
and started softly chewing.

“Well,
this very evening,
I was anticipating a call to come in for another murder,
and it was then I became sad,
disappointed even.”

“Disappointed that there had not been a murder yet of late?”

“Oh no,
oh no,
do not get me wrong,
I hope,
pray even,
as much as anyone,
that these crimes are over with,
even if I do not believe them to be.

No,
I felt such emotions,
because I had realized,
that I had been abusing our friendship.

I had not called upon you,
in a friendly manner,
for weeks,
for months even,
and here I was,
‘pon your step,
picking your brain,
and treating you not to nights on the town,
but to scenes of the upmost tragedy,
and wretched vileness,
and I thought to myself,
what kind of friend was that?”

Now,
it had only been a minute or two,
but I must admit,
by this time,
the root seemed to be taking its effect ‘pon me.

I realized my constitution against its effects,
would not be as it was in my prime,
but I did not expect it to start its effects so quickly.

As my head began to get light,
all I could muster,
was a smile as I tried to talk,
but only words of nonsense passed my lips,
causing a communal round of laughter between Bixby,
and myself.

I then tried to apologize for my noviceness,
but once again,
only a garbled mess echoed.

By this time,
the laughter was seemingly too much to handle,
but while Bixby was nearly out of his chair with enjoyment,
I felt myself relaxing.

“So tonight I am to remedy my folly,
and shall treat you to an eve,
unlike any other you have experienced before.”

The verve of his visage was evident,
and after a few more minutes of reigning in my own composure,
I finally was able to mount a protest.

“No,
no my friend,
you know such exploits are not for me.”

But my argument was for not,
and rather than catching my words,
Bixby caught my arm,
helped me up,
and led me to the door.

“Its been too long,
my friend I say,
since you have smelt the flowers,
or brushed the petals,
of London’s finest roses,
and even longer still,
since the calling,
of your precious wife,
so with that,
I shalln’t take no as an answer,
or depression as a defense.”

With those words,
we exited the comfort of my confines,
and ‘pon entering into the night air,
the brisk winds helped alert my senses,
and reeled in the effects,
if only somewhat at least,
the root within.

And quickly we walked,
Bixby and I,
to a place I had only been once,
since the passing of my Marie,
but in truth,
had frequented often,
in the years prior to my time with her.

For in my time with her,
I found life to offer all I could wish for,
and even then,
so much more,
but when the sickness came,
an illness of fevered chills,
and coughing blood,
I lost all that was precious to me,
save for my princess Poe,
and after the passing of my love,
I yearned for the touch of a woman,
and visited this very bordello I was approaching now,
this house of ill-repute,
only a singular time.

But whilst basking in the garden of the sinful love,
all those years ago,
I found not the solace,
comfort,
or answers,
I was searching for,
and as with the root,
let such desires,
flutter away in the wind,
ne’er to be touched again,
until this very night,
it would seem.

It took only a short while,
for us to arrive,
though as high as I was,
time was indifferent.

With clear eyes,
this building would seem as any other in London’s east end,
but in my current state,
with senses seemingly heightened to those of an animal,
I could smell the euphoric aromas of lust,
sex,
sweat,
and blood.

Yes,
Bixby was right,
what a sweet scent,
the flowers of this garden,
seemed to exude.

Stepping in,
we were greeted at the door,
by a line of women,
varying in age,
size,
and color,
to fill the needs of any appetite,
no matter how vulgar,
or perverse.

The very first thing I noticed tho’,
had little to do with any one woman in particular,
but instead,
once more,
I caught hint of the lilacs,
now strong in the air.

It was quickly obvious to me,
it was this very building,
that Bixby,
and victims all,
had visited in hours previous,
to the cries,
and crimes,
but that information,
hardly took a detective,
of professional,
or amateur status even,
to deduce.

It was then,
we were approached by the lady of the house,
a woman who simply went by Madame K.

She was tall,
with hair of fire,
and tongue of flame,
and she went to Bixby,
likely as she had done so many times ‘fore,
with countless men prior,
and whispered into his ear.

She then turned to me,
with a familiarity seeming to be more apparent on her end,
and spoke,
“Ah the prodigal Lord has finally returned
it has been so long,
too long in fact,
since you have come to see us.”

I wanted to respond,
tried to respond even,
but had little energy left to do so.

With my silence only enabling,
she continued on,
“Did you get my gift?

You see,
once Bixby here told me of your friendship,
and your penchant for helping in his work,
I simply begged him to offer you my root,
and then bring you by,
so us girls could thank you proper.

Enjoy yourself,
take your pick,
and fulfill your desires,
but if you don’t mind,
Bixby and I must be going,
so he can reap his own rewards.”

The prefect turned to me with a smile of his own,
and I urged him on,
while slumping into a chair myself.

Tho’ there was a woman here,
or even ten,
that could,
and would,
service my fantasies,
I could bring myself not,
to explore the demons of my soul on this night.

Besides,
with the root so strong,
now permeating into my very core,
I had the energy not,
to be able to perform,
as one would expect,
and thought it best,
in protection of my own masculine visage,
to simply refrain,
from failing to fulfill,
my own fantasies.

So I sat,
and with every second that passed,
I felt my tensions exit,
and my eyelids grow heavy.

This trip proved fruitful enough,
for I believe even at this moment,
I knew what I needed,
in regard to the murders.

But I had strength not,
for action,
or even step.

And the last I remember of that instant,
was Madame K smiling at me,
as she led Bixby away,
laughing,
and her eyes,
watching mine close.

Now believe what you want,
but from that moment til the next,
of which would finally be where my story started,
my life was near lost.

Lost to the wind,
or perhaps simply to the root,
but either way,
lost nevertheless,
for my next moment of recollection,
changed everything.

“No,”
I cried out first,
as my senses slowly began to return.

I knew how it must look,
to friend,
and others alike,
for there I stood,
with the night’s freshest victim at my feet.

If I had not known better,
I might have even thought myself guilty,
but thankfully,
I knew the truth,
and it truly would set me free.

Unfortunately,
I had little in the way of strength,
that I could offer explanation at this precise moment,
so I was forced to let Bixby,
and his men,
take me into custody.

Seeing his gaze ‘pon me,
the look of disdain,
and sorrow mixed,
broke my ain heart.

By his side,
wrapped in a heavy tweed to protect her from the elements,
of both crime,
and nature,
was the woman of his night,
who had accompanied Bixby here,
to identify the victim,
resting beside me.

Unlike my friend,
her gaze had a different tone,
but thankfully,
with every second that passed,
the effects of the root within,
dwindled more,
as both vigor,
and verve,
returned to my psyche,
and once the press began to arrive at the scene,
with bulbs of light exploding into the darkened night,
I knew the time must come now to offer my thoughts,
for waiting any longer,
would only serve to slaughter my own colorful character,
beyond repair.

“Wait,”
I then yelled out,
“All is not as it seems!”

There were heckles,
and jeers,
coming from the crowd,
but they all quelled once Bixby stepped forward,
and perhaps out of friendship,
or maybe out of pity,
offered me the chance to explain.

My heart quickened,
as I prepared for the big reveal.

“What we have here,”
I began as the crowd looked on,
“Is murder by suicide.”

“How is that even possible?”
a random voice echoed out.

From here,
I thought it prudent to tread cautiously,
for few would like where I was about to step,
as our villain had clients many.

“As Lord Bixby,
and his men,
were able to ascertain,
each victim was a working bird,
and it was Bixby himself,
who was able to solve these crimes.”

With those words,
my friend looked at me with surprise,
and in return,
I simply offered him a wink.

I considered,
that if I were to offer Bixby all the credit,
it would not only offer more time for explanation,
but lend credence to the weight of my words.

“You see,
Lord Bixby came to me a short time ago,
and had nearly this entire case solved,
but simply needed help in compiling the proof,
for the truth,
as you are about to learn,
is difficult to believe.

Each of these poor girls,
took their own life,
but not by their own desire.

No,
in fact,
they were forced into it,
not by any man you have labeled the Ripper,
but rather,
by none other than the Lady of Lust,
and Lies,
Madame K!”

With those words,
everyone turned their attention to the woman at Bixby’s side,
with the utmost surprise,
but perhaps none moreso,
than that of my friend himself.

I then continued,
“Each of these girls worked for Madame K,
but it was not until the last victim,
that I was able to see the truth in Bixby’s words,
for you see,
I knew the last victim,
and though we had last spoken in time past,
I recalled it her sincere desire to leave the calling of the concubine.

Her words were so strong,
so vivid,
that I remembered them well,
for she spoke of her two sons with such zest,
I thought she would get up and leave that very eve.

But it seemed that was not to be,
and she must have been there for quite some time after,
tho’ my knowledge of her gave Bixby,
the thought to dig deeper,
and it was then he found that each of the girls,
including poor Lorelie here,
had desires of leaving the bordello.

It was then when motive became clear,
for how could Madame K prosper,
if all her birds were leaving her nest.”

My words must have started to had their effect,
because for the first time,
the crowd,
and Bixby too,
seemed to gaze upon the woman in a different light.

Before she could offer her own defense,
I persisted with my speech,
“With motive aside,
Bixby next had to answer the question,
how were these deaths possible?

He had frequented Madame K numerous times,
solely under the guise of investigation,
and had never found clue to her guilt,
save for one,
the root,
tabernanthe iboga.

Being an expert in the field,
I recognized its scent,
reminiscent of lilacs
and quickly informed Bixby of its effects,
which include heightened suggestibility,
and a trance-like state.

Madame K had been using such root,
to keep her ladies docile,
and when needed,
as in the case of these deaths,
open to suggestion.

Under the effects of this root,
the girls each took their own lives,
which is also evident by the angling of their wounds,
and the lack of any struggle,
which would be an oddity to be sure,
given the vulgarity of the crimes.”

By now,
my words were holding such great weight,
that even Lord Bixby himself saw the truth,
and even if his actions were coming a bit late,
he realized the opportunity nonetheless,
and shackled the woman by his side.

Angry,
and distraught,
at the turn of events,
Madame K then yelled out,
“If all this is true,
why are you here,
over her body?”

I smiled at her,
knowing I had her beat,
while replying,
“As if you do not know!

You see,
Bixby,
with me by his side,
went to visit Madame K at the first toll of this very eve,
to arrest her for her crimes,
in hopes of preventing any more death,
but ‘pon our arrival,
she quickly sedated us,
as she had done with her girls,
using the root in the air,
as a vapor,
we unwittingly inhaled.

And with our own psyches as defenseless as her victims,
Madame K set up this charade,
to frame me for the crimes,
and keep the prefect of Scotland Yard in her pocket!”

Now,
truth be told,
I had little idea how accurate my deductions actually were,
but Madame K,
surprised at the turn of events,
supported my theories,
and tried to flee,
but to no avail.

For the better part of the next hour,
the press interviewed Bixby,
and he played the bard to perfection,
answering their questions,
and fleshing out the details of the story.

As to not contradict him,
I waived off all press for myself,
and simply guided them to my friend.

Later that night,
once the scene was cleared,
Lord Bixby came to my home once more,
and sat down.

Out of politeness,
I offered him a root,
and to my surprise,
he waived it off.

He then leaned forward,
and unable to fully understand,
simply asked everything,
without saying anything.

“I had my hunch,”
I began,
“with the scent of the root from your first visit,
for it was a type I had long desired to add to my own collection.

From there,
it went much as I had described earlier,
with the few obvious alterations,
but thought it best to offer you the credit,
to prevent the chance,
of an unscrupulous writer deeming you a fool,
or charlatan of the law.

Besides,
in my life,
I have no need for additional scrutiny,
so this way,
everyone wins.”

“Except for the girls,”
Bixby then said solemly.

“Yes,”
I added sopftly myself,
“Except for the girls…”

After a few minutes of silence,
Bixby then stood up,
and headed toward the door.

But before exiting,
he turned to say,
“Thank you my friend,
for she surely had me under her spell,
and would certainly have gotten the better of me,
if not for your interference.”

I waived him off,
as if to say it was nothing,
when he added,
“So I suppose I owe you now?”

I smiled back with a wry grin,
knowing he would fully understand,
and replied,
“I suppose…”

And with that,
Bixby turned his back,
and left,
leaving me as he found me,
alone in my thoughts,
and as he did,
I picked up my quill,
dipped it in the ink,
and now with much to say,
started the letter I originally intended ‘pon Bixby’s first visit,
“To my dearest Poe…”

Take My Hand

Take My Hand
by Jonas Hyde

Take my hand,
my love,
my dear,
and cry not this eve.

For through the fog,
I will take you,
take you by your hand,
and through the darkness lead.

The sun may set,
but light shall e’er shine,
the beacon of our love,
my heart you’ll receive.

So look to the sky,
beyond the eventide,
and wish ‘pon the twinkle of the stars,
for in the them you shall find,
a love that will ne’er leave.

Goodbye

Goodbye
by Jonas Hyde

 

I swallow the sorrow,
and borrow a smile,
to make it through each day,
but decay has eroded my soul,
leaving a lifeless shell,
which fell to the void,
passing through the motions,
the oceans of life,
toward the valley of death,
my breath suffocates
rapt  ‘neath this guise,
my lies become my truth,
can you see my tear,
or hear my moan,
they signal the end,
my friend hark my words,
this eve shall be my last,
the past has come to play,
so for my final cry,
a goodbye is nigh.

Seraph’s Song: The Epic Fable of Sister Sera

Seraph’s Song:
The Epic Fable of Sister Sera
by Jonas Hyde

I – Fall from Grace

In the beginning,
a line spoken so oft ‘fore,
yet the truth lie hidden,
on what happened the eighth day,
and since that time of yore,
as chanted near pillows of people’s,
is this Seraph’s Song e’ermore.

How she cries,
will make you cry,
for her loss,
her pain,
would surely die,
if it were not whispered on the ethereal winds,
where fables will fore’er fly.

Many stories have been shared,
of the Tempter down,
shunned for his betrayal,
and with him,
legions of others pelted to the depths of darkened town,
like drops of sin,
as if tears from His sightless frown.

What fable oft lost since,
is of one seraph from heaven,
angel great,
who lost her wings,
not for single fault nor eleven,
as the one ‘fore her so well known,
but for exactly seven.

Now I know what thoughts you must have,
what light you would look with her ‘pon,
but judge not too quickly,
for her fall proved to be more lesson and test,
than penalty of death forgone,
as in His eye’s,
love never died on any dawn.

Veins of vice ran through her,
as tempest wind,
tho’ each balanced by virtue true,
so such was the battle for self and soul,
the eternal ebb and flow of life and sin,
a sign of humanity ‘fore man,
and proof of heavens long after faith rescind.

Seraph Sera,
of which this song was penned,
fell from grace for seven sins,
long ‘fore this day,
yet her tale there does not end,
for now she walks the lands,
as one among men.

II – The Pilgrimage

In solitaire,
our Seraph Sera lived in uncertainty,
walking this world alone,
shunned from He she wanted,
while ignored by man’s fraternity,
and the passing of time,
for seemingly an eternity.

Tho’ such infinite torture,
was simply not to be,
for on one gloomy eve,
steeples that ‘fore had been e’er dark,
lit for Seraph Sera to see,
an answer finally,
to her from He.

Soul afire,
careful and cautious she stepped,
entering His house,
and on knee she bent,
waiting for the secrets He kept,
but ‘pon not hearing His voice,
rivers of blood she wept.

“O’ Father hear my pleas,”
Seraph Sera begged with a shout,
and tho’ she waited hours for reply,
it was but an angel’s breath,
‘fore His words finally rang out,
“Do not cry my dear,
your love for me I do not doubt.”

Light filled her soul,
‘pon hearing His tone ring true,
and for a long while they talked,
healing the wounds of their hurt,
as only Father and daughter can do,
and when her apology was complete,
she hoped her damnation was through.

“The choice is yours,”
He spoke softly next,
offering her a chance,
to do His deed,
a trial e’er so complex,
to end the Tempter’s plague,
and cleanse the world of demons’ hex.

In that moment she said yes,
and her eyes of black were torn,
in exchange for the gift of Seraph’s Song,
and tho’ angel within may have died,
it is not our place to mourn,
for on that eve,
Sister Sera was born.

III – Seraph’s Song

In this fable,
the question most so oft ask,
what is the Seraph’s Song,
and how in tune,
would it help with Sister Sera’s task,
well the answer lies my king,
in the heart behind the soul’s mask.

For the song to be sung,
comes from within,
the stronger the fire,
the heat from the hearth,
then no matter where that soul has been,
in defeat,
shall lie opposing sin.

The melody of the tune,
is far from a grim syren’s squall,
yet just as hypnotic,
tho’ beautiful true,
inspiring even for one and all,
but damning in strength and potency,
when dealing with demons born of the fall.

As what is imp’s weakness,
may not be what you think,
for many imagine fire down below,
when really,
it is darkness that shrouds thick as ink,
and in that veil the Seraph’s Song,
is the only means that causes wicked armors to chink.

Such a harmony,
in all its glorious power,
can simply be sung,
by one offered such gift divine,
and tho’ others oft cower,
Sister Sera,
shall bring forth demons’ final hour.

The lone question now,
after given such a gift,
is if Sister Sera is strong enough,
to resist the temptations of past,
to let her own sins drift,
forgiven e’ermore,
as she fights right and swift.

So the Seraph’s Song,
as you can see,
can shift the tides of war,
and offer hope of salvation,
to mortals all like you and me,
if wielded true by Sister Sera,
at the cost of her own immortality.

IV – The Hunt

In truth,
the hunt started long ago,
a task taken on by hero fallen,
name now lost fore’er,
victim claimed by Tempter so,
collapse spreading darkness e’erlasting,
spanning far and low.

Yet such failure,
does Sister Sera fear not,
for her strength lies within,
in the belief in self,
not to be lured or bought,
by Tempter’s own gifts,
lessons of past learned to ne’er be forgot.

The battle ahead for our fable’s lead,
ends with Tempter true,
but starts with demons seven,
forged of separate sins,
of which Sister Sera must pursue,
or this land will be lost,
souls of men fore’er to bid adieu.

Tho’ battle there even does not end,
for demons’ followers forge an army do,
minions of the minions,
hunting the hunter,
all wanting Sister Sera defeated through and through,
as with her end,
comes damnation more than we e’er knew.

So the hunt begins,
ne’er to rest,
by star and by moon,
Sister Sera walks the lands,
searching for demons’ nest,
with trials of sin,
given ‘long the way as test.

Let it be said,
even Seraph’s Song is not enough,
if soul wavers dark,
and with Sister Sera the risk is always there,
but she battles temptation tough,
e’er ready,
to deny the Tempter’s bluff.

For knowledge of sin makes Sister Sera strong,
as merit true now courses through her veins,
awareness which leads her on task,
‘cross the world to defeat darkness’ rise,
ignoring the pains and chains,
of Tempter’s shadow,
so only virtue and light remains.

V – The Battle and the Bard

In the twilight,
of battle’s eve,
I came ‘pon Sister Sera,
as any bard would,
ready to receive,
her tale and fate,
so her story would not be lost to the sea.

That night she spoke,
her voice harmonic and pure,
of He who gave her strength,
of her charge,
to defeat Tempter sure,
to end the world of eternal grim,
to offer salvation e’ermore.

I cried as she wept,
of man’s failing hope,
in self and virtue,
of love and He,
not realizing the scope,
of the test ‘pon her feet,
unsure if I could cope.

Yet this fable is not about me,
and the next day,
Sister Sera set out to battle demons seven,
on the wings of Seraph’s Song,
fear held at bay,
silence in solitude,
leaving me ‘lone to pray.

Words alone cannot offer truth,
to the cost of battle fast,
for blood fell like rain,
as each sin fell to virtue pure,
spanning the world far and vast,
defeating each demon,
each one to the last.

And by that eve’s end,
Sister Sera stood strong and still,
atop a mountain of  fiends’ flesh,
with nary a breath left within,
but having to find the will,
to push past her own torment and wounds,
to one final kill.

For the first Fallen remains,
and as she stands at his feet,
I watch from a distance,
in fear for self and her,
in fear of the world’s eternal defeat,
for on that eve and ‘pon that hill,
Sister Sera and the Tempter finally meet.

VI – Sacrifice

In that moment,
time ceased,
as Tempter scoffed in pride,
at innocence before him,
ready to feast,
‘pon Sister Sera’s soul,
for he is the damned beast.

The wind swirled,
as tempest fierce and free,
torrents strong,
by cause of Tempter’s breath,
forcing our heroine to bended knee,
pity only shown,
by her offerings of a sacrificial plea.

In that pause,
I thought all was lost,
for Sister Sera had defeat in her eyes,
and temptation was strong,
He who would be crossed,
by cause of Tempter’s own deal,
she seemingly not ready to pay the final cost.

And as Tempter laughed into his victory,
I cried at her defeat,
wondering how and why,
she could give up so easily,
lost to the Tempter’s deceit,
wanting to join the fray myself,
so we both could retreat.

But ‘fore I could move,
I then saw the truth in plan,
for Sister Sera was not done,
and as Tempter lurched,
into him she ran,
sword thrust,
as then the Seraph’s Song began.

Victory shifted next,
as light pierced the dark,
Sister Sera glowing bright,
as a brilliant star,
hope and man’s final spark,
as song and steel pierced,
fore’er leaving their mark.

But as Tempter fell,
he released his own damning moan,
wounding heroine deep,
causing eternal defeat,
and tho’ Tempter was removed from throne,
Sister Sera’s final sacrifice,
offered man salvation at the cost of her own.

VII – Ascension

In the end,
when the dust cleared,
all was silent,
and for the first time in fore’er,
she was revered,
for her sacrifice,
of forgoing what she feared.

Her body lay,
and I ran to her,
sickened by her death,
weeping true,
unsure of what next was too occur,
but then His words echoed from the sky,
to which I now refer.

“Sister Sera on this day,
you made me proud,
you succeeded in your task,
cleansing the world of Tempter’s darkness,
lifting the shroud,
putting man ‘fore self,
doing as you vowed.”

Just then,
as her blood consumed my hands,
a light from above filled her core,
mending her wounds,
as if He hearing my own demands,
for next she started to rise toward the clouds,
as if always part of His own plans.

Sister Sera then awakened,
at just that time,
and purpose of her charge,
effect of her sacrifice,
offered reason and rhyme,
for I witnessed her being saved,
and the beauty of the sight was truly sublime.

Her ascension had begun,
and angel once more received her wings,
a gift pure and true,
surrendering herself,
for all slaves and kings,
she then looks at me with a smile,
and for the final time she sings.

E’ermore I shall tell the tale of Sister Sera,
and pass it on from son to son,
for I am the bard,
and this is the fable,
finally done,
of she who sung the Seraph’s Song,
she who was the chosen one.

The End

O’ This Life (The final words of Nikola Tesla)

Part 2 of the ‘Final Words’ Anthology by Jonas Hyde.

Read Part 1 here: Adieu – (The final words of Gilles de Rais)

O’ This Life (The final words of Nikola Tesla)
by Jonas Hyde

O’ this life is now complete,
yet feel no sorrow on this day,
I beg you of this,
for I can now finally say,
that you O’ Lord I am prepared to meet.

These words I scribe so as to reminisce,
my life as it passes ‘fore my eyes,
the words people would speak,
shall meet darkened skies,
and the truth of my days would fall to the abyss.

But if it be fact you seek,
then my story I now offer to you,
and the name of Tesla shall ever reside,
a legend told from my ain point of view,
of years oft lived dim and bleak.

Always it was light I yearned to provide,
radiance which would push back the darkened stillness,
and tear down the fear that lived within,
the scared child of perpetual illness,
who no longer wished to run and hide.

Born amidst a brilliant storm is where my life would begin,
fitting it was as if part of a divine plan,
for in all my days I would receive brilliant flashes in my mind,
ideas which would fully span,
from thought to final skin.

Tho’ my youth began to unwind,
when my mother lost her life,
and for what would be the first but not only time,
I could not look past the torment and strife,
my lost soul I had to find.

So I shed my sin and grime,
and left my world of grief-ladened pain,
when I came across he who would be,
short term friend and fore’er bane,
for when I spoke of reason it was Edison who stole my rhyme.

So from him too I decided to flee,
and toiled in the mundane and perverse,
when I finally came to believe that our machinery could be driven by power,
obtainable at any point of the universe,
energy without a fee.

So at the turn of the years I started my work in the Tower,
and offered my mind to the world,
caring not for possessions or wealth,
and soon the fame of my designs e’er swirled,
as my inventions did society take and devour.

But soon expiring was my health,
coming closer with each passing breath,
both fearing and wanting not
my death
suddenly and cloaked in stealth.

It is my heart within which has slowly rot,
and alone here I shall meet my end,
final moments private and discreet,
before my soul shall finally transcend,
so goodbye o’ world – please don’t let me be forgot.

About Seraph’s Song: The Epic Fable of Sister Sera

Seraph’s Song: The Epic Fable of Sister Sera is composed of seven poems, each with seven verses, and seven lines per verse. There is a pace within each verse on lines 2,5, and 7, and each poem leads into the next. Individually they are separate chapters to the one complete tale.

The goal was to recall the fables of old, told by bards around the fire, as people listened intently. Sera, the fable’s lead, is an angel fallen from heaven, and this story is about her redemption… a redemption each of us can find when we battle our own demons.

Seraph’s Song: The Epic Fable of Sister Sera
I – Fall from Grace
II – The Pilgrimage
III – Seraph’s Song
IV – The Hunt
V – The Battle and the Bard
VI – Sacrifice
VII – Ascension

Insula de Verum

Insula de Verum
by Jonas Hyde
Act One

10, June 1790
Strait of Juan de Fuca

Through the gossamer obscurity of the evening’s shadow,
dwelling firm upon the tide spawned from the strength of Neptune’s shoulders,
rippled with his labored breath,
nigh a moment of Life’s pulse past the crepuscule,
I challenged the pluvious elements.

“Hark, fiend of a lost watery nirvana,”
my tongue lashed and derided from the edged incline of my bow out to the silent Spirit;
one hand compressed against my rima oris as if clenching Gabriel’s trumpet,
the other held steadfastly to Anastasia’s mast.

“I defy your accord,
leaving my earthly coil to be decided not by your whim,
but by the pattern adorning Nona’s loom.

My fate shall be decided by the Fate of fates,
not your tears of rue!”

My travailing blaspheme went neglected,
but I let it not weigh down my soul.

I sought solace in the concept of my existence being warranted
by my aptitude,
and as such,
swung my serratus ‘round toward the wheel.

For the shadowing hours that followed,
we were a veritable poet’s theme subsisting as truth;
Man versus Nature.

My vessel was jactitated through darkness’ tempest;
torrent rain,
as daggers of Brutus,
ravaged my cloth sails.

The open sea I erstwhile had such credulity for,
was ostensibly turning to be my orphic foe,
but I permitted it not to distraught me.

I struggled on through my own esoteric Crusade.

Finally,
with my consistence of life imbrued in salt,
and sea,
bloomy sails commenced to relax beneath the salving winds,
whilst Anastasia calmed her sonorous heaving ‘pon the water.

I had seen her through,
and she too had restituted the favour.

Her gyrd frame in length lay perpendicular to my four cubit
stature,
yet hither,
alone,
eremitic,
we were joined;
the former counting on the later for protraction of breath,
and vise-versa.

With Neptune overcome,
and my ain vitality exhausted,
I fastened myself to the deck,
consumed.

My inhalation paced with hers,
in harmonic concert.

We rested our weary bones whilst tossing about,
passion jailed by fatigue.

Time later I awoke,
as Apollo liberated his blanched,
fulgent rays ‘pon me.

My fibre suffered,
but my nous did not vacillate.

Positioned grandiloquent,
I susurrated an orison of substance to my beloved for her
deliverance.

“Hah!”
I next wrawled in rhapsodic jubilation toward the vastness of the ocean.

“As but a boy I have been tried with a crueler,
harsher eloquence.

The allegory of your trials far transcend beyond incertitude,
the peril and difficulty of the actuality encompassing the manifestation of engaging in them.”

I scoffed and jeered at Father Sea for far too long before then shifting my cerebration to a significantly more critical detail,
specifically,
the extension of our survival.

Tho’ my words of dustup spoke defiance,
my soul spoke otherwise.

Anastasia had been damaged,
but her legend held not besmirched in the unkind and barbarous storm,
and now I had to ascertain the obscure location of thus unchartered lands,
so I could mend her properly.

Her love saved my scorned life,
and now I had to reciprocate the deed with my own skill and science.

Long ago I was originally commissioned by a now fallen
monarch,
Second in the House of Hanover,
who himself hath since commenced a journey down the proverbial River Styx o’er a score and ten agone,
and have been in solitaire,
save for my fille,
far longer than originally foreknown,
all the whilst concentrating on the fulfillment of my seemingly infeasible task.

Tho’ my charge was no longer the work of regality,
I adjudged apodictically,
and sincerely true,
my dedication nonetheless,
as such,
the underivative intent,
and spirit of my labour,
radiated from the parchment of each archipelago I chronicled.

As a cartographer,
I had seen more of this world than the faulted scholars who lamented it,
and the cowardly explorers who claim to have discovered it.

However I bespoke them wholly,
how could you lay title to discover what had been the entire time?

Fear held them back,
but it had not enchained me,
nor tethered my resolve by any means.

Rather,
I had rushed into the wanting appetence of the unknown beast,
only to chart out the darkness others feared so much they ignored the reality,
and existence,
of it all.

Nevertheless,
for all my bravado,
the storm had hampered myself,
and my love.

We both needed the solace of land,
the affection of fire,
the stability of static life.

For far too long,
longer in realness than I ever had before,
I had sailed those open waters;
with nary the sight of another vessel,
nor another indicant of breath.

I had tho’,
about a hebdomad yore,
observed the current reposition against the wind,
a wonted indication of volume emerging from the depths.

Pursuing such trails,
had in the past,
and by the given familiarity of nature,
e’er shall in the hereafter,
lead me to an improvised harbour from which I could recumb my own weary sea legs,
all the whilst mending Anastasia’s wounds.

In tune with a lost nightingale’s song,
we found ourselves stalking the current toward refuge,
which I sought in the guise of land;
familiarity a concern,
as fleeting as the commonality of my own eupnoeic breath.

The midday luminance burned impregnable now,
once more igniting the fervour of spirit within me,
rekindling the purpose and potency which had been earlier purloined.

As the phases of the tide,
of the light,
of the Moon,
so seemed the shifting ebb and flow,
the imbalance of my own nature.

Even I could recount,
even I could agnize,
it was time to regain my bearing,
and my mien;
not merely of position,
but of sanity.

Men were not borne with gills,
nor with fins,
and even the most adept seafarers eventually postulate the necessity to solidify their spirit with dust,
stone,
sand;
elements forfeited amongst the salt,
wind,
and sea of Brobdingnagian waters.

By late day,
the snarled and knotted lust within my stomach began to preponderate the hunger,
and thirst,
in my soul.

Reality,
as ineluctable as the most vivid Star,
was setting in.

My head was becoming miasmic,
my biliousness nimble,
my vision bleary.

I yearned and pined for victuals,
any sustenance,
but I had earlier consecrated to savour my next repast on solid land,
and I was not about to go back on my declaration.

Exposed,
alone,
my word was all I had,
living by it as oft as I suffered,
and once I would commence to denounce myself,
it would be insufferable to reconstruct the pass of honesty.

A man’s promise is merely as inviolable as his exploits,
it must be kept sacrosanct;
I could not afford to become an enemy to myself,
nor a captive to my demons.

No,
I would arrive at seacoast,
and it would be then,
only then,
that I would incur pleasure in the salt-cured soup,
forged of the coriaceous carcase,
fished from the sea only a few sunsets agone.

Bemused in my own mentation,
with thoughts as momentaneous as Nature’s susurrant exhalation,
which called me out to perish upon the sea with Celaeno’s charm,
I resounded my determination to subsist my breath.

In mention,
if I were to share the totality of my disregarded exploits of yore,
it would be obvious to any attender,
be it child with eyes of a doe,
or cynic with pursed lip,
to each and all they would believe that this particular moment,
tho’ tumultuous,
with more than adequate sufficiency in dire and horrific event to guttle and devour most men,
is in realness an afterthought,
when equated to the unfeigned tribulations I have surmounted in times of yesteryear.

But beneath my narration to both,
in my own heart and soul,
I would agnize my bravado to be faithlessly pretended,
as with every passing day,
every ephemeral year,
the failing of my body,
and the impuissance of my earthly coil,
maturate in concert with the passing of time.

My soiled hair grew grey in concurrence with the evanescent clouds above,
and as the sky lent me a temporary reprieve,
from its vehement and savage squall,
I perceived myself,
also dolourous,
when the realization of my solitude floated to the forefront of my consciousness.

All I had was my labour,
and it was for that I awoke with every rising sun,
and struggled without fail,
through my trials against all of Life’s impedimenta.

With those thoughts resolute in my head,
I knew what had to be done.

After wiping the salty sudor from my brow,
I cracked my knuckles and skittered up the mast.

Comfortably atop Anastasia,
my naked eye scrutinized the totality of the region.

Unwrapping my copper spyglass from its tattered leather housing,
I surveyed the entire area.

Before the tempest’s vehemence and fury,
I had been sailing quarterpoint north from Drake’s port for what seemed like an eon.

Nether the iniquity of Nox,
Neptune tried to end my existence with his canines,
or to be denotative,
tides,
of war.

Nevertheless,
chroniclers would now utter narrations solely of my survival.

Only that means aught more than my intimation of this narrative,
or the value of the parchment it is scrivened upon,
particularly if I was not to uncover Nature’s own,
hopefully nearby land.

With that sentiment now unique and singular within me,
I recounted in my mind’s eye the constellations just prior to Neptune’s assault,
and with my burden of body and soul shifted against the mast,
extracted one of my surveys of the region.

I next spieled the memory of the event over in my mentations,
confabulating with Anastasia when the vision became muzzy,
or the memory too perturbed or disquieted.

Conjointly,
we were able to recreate and revivify,
with my finest approximation mind you,
the spatial relation the Sea’s breath maneuvered us.

Once I fell victim to my quiescence,
I lost track of which bearing we traveled.

Only instead,
trusting in Anastasia,
as deeply and profoundly as I have anyone else in life,
I knew she kept our course strong and unbroken.

Exploiting these things,
my faith,
my science,
and my gut,
I marked out a conceivable region of land mass on my map.

As suspected,
lacuna canvas stared back at me.

I knew more so than most this did not signify all to be insoluble,
but rather,
there was void and nullity,
which simply needed to be discovered.

Far be it for me to incline that I was the first to traverse those channels,
nor would I be the last,
but alas,
what the eyes of those before me appropriated were not a part of the noesis I was privy too.

So as it was presently,
those might as well be vestal,
and pure,
waters.

With a glance,
I once again surveiled the current,
and then it impaled me.

Looking high up in the sky,
both fretful and blase,
I caught sight of a flourishing bird.

Larger in equivalence to a hawk,
with a paler and pallid crown.

Its venter was far more round than mine,
which indicated nesting ground must be near.

The bird was an augury of my deliverance,
and in it’s own freedom,
I would discover my ain salvation.

Without vacillation,
I descended down the mast and took position astern Anastasia’s helm.

Her smooth skin felt comfortable and familiar against my calloused hands.

I positioned the wheel for a steady course in the direction of the bird,
then made my way to the sail,
expanding it fully.

As a father would his daughter,
I kept Anastasia steadfast whilst enabling her to billow her wings,
leading us to redemption.

The rotund canvas commenced to flutter,
and palpitate in the wind,
as if she were diffident and unsure of herself,
coercing me to once more commandeer the situation and tack into the wind.

Sometimes,
no matter how dauntless,
brave,
or inviolable,
a daughter needs her father’s help to guide her.

My sentiment wavered not,
nor did my grip.

For a long while I followed the bird’s trail,
long since attenuated in actuality,
yet still accented in my mind’s eye.

Then,
with an emotion akin to resting in the arms of a loved one,
my actions were honoured with success.

“Does my eye deceive me?

Does it delude me?”
I hollo’d as I once more unwrapped my looking glass.

“Do you see it Anastasia?”

For an instant the sail flickered and fluttered,
a sign of either variable wind or my love’s acknowledgment;
the answer to which I shall bequeath to life’s own poetic reason.

My vision enhanced by the arced glass,
I caught sight of beautiful,
lucullan land.

Even now,
the expanse was filled with a lively,
viridite hue ofttimes found in more tropical environments.

The fervour tumesced within me,
as I agnized our salvation had arrived.

My goal was to,
at present,
advance with circumspection,
so the sand of the sea would not creep ruffianly upon our hull.

With proficient hand,
I channelized Anastasia e’er near to the isle before us.

Conjointly,
we shared a placid jape as tension both waxed and waned with the moving waves.

We were nigh to deliverance from these waters,
yet the enigma of the beauty before us blanketed our fear.

I corresponded with my maps,
and my intuition was affirmed.

This islet had not yet been charted.

The isle was not merely my saviour,
but moreso an augury from the gods.

For why else would a cartographer be brought to uncharted pockets of mass within the incessant and unremitting sea of salt,
sun,
and rain?

Perceptive to the preindication,
I deftly commenced to progress our way ‘round the totality of the islet.

As we traversed its entirety,
near ten lengths forth the coast,
I made notation of the tract I viewed through my spyglass on my map.

For a long while we journeyed,
I,
disregarding the famish manducating within,
and Anastasia,
ignoring the earth’s pale,
salted-blood,
slowly occupying her cabin below.

I would have hastened our approach,
only I cognized the reality woven;
we would both endure,
so in its stead,
I opted for the refuge and solace of knowing the terrain of wherever we would be reposed.

It was then,
when the sight seized my vision.

“Is it truth?”
I hollo’d out into the winds,
as I elevated the arced glass once more.

Squinting out Apollo’s illumination with a sealed left eye,
I endeavoured to focalize in.

“And there it be verity my love!”
I lauded with uninhibited fervour,
as I delineated the deplorable distinctness of a diminished sea-vessel,
landlocked against the isle’s coast.

Somewhat smaller than Anastasia herself,
and far more dilapidated,
the vessel appeared to have been in quietus within its earth-bunkered grave for far too long.

As I regarded it with all volition of hope,
I inferred that in itself the vessel was likely nugatory,
tho’ as salvage for my love,
it was indeed invaluable.

With haste,
and void of contemptuous philosophy,
I manoeuvered Anastasia toward the wreckage.

Upon approach,
all appeared unambiguous to the point I bemused in the arrival,
reasoning aught of the peril.

With lax hand I directed Anastasia,
and thankfully so,
for if my grip were as tauten and unwavering as Heracles,
our fate,
for certain,
would have been equated to that of the vessel we hoped to attain.

For,
at the moment,
scarcely prior to Fate’s damnation,
a gust of wind heaved and surged in potently,
coercing Anastasia’s canvass,
and my own hand,
to the port-side.

“What?”
I gasped aloud,
enraged and surely maddened,
if merely for an instant,
by the gall of the gale.

Tho’,
then I substantiated,
that for once,
Nature acted upon my behalf,
for scarcely a short ways further toward inland,
a coral reef protruded from the sea’s utmost stratum.

Its acute and piercing exterior would have lacerated through Anastasia’s flesh likened to the vehemence of Pausanias’ own steel.

“Neptune’s guile has been foiled by the breath of Lady Luck!”
I skreighed out,
as now my grasp became unshakable around Anastasia’s wheel.

“If not for her timely intervention,
our fate would have been not unlike the salvage of yon and yore lost ship.”

When the moment spare arrived,
I made note of the wreckage on the map,
aware my arrival would not be forbidden,
only delayed.

With concentration duly now where it necessarily should be,
I concentred on an inlet with high enough and aeonian tide,
so as our situation would not become any more grievous.

We continued our way ‘round the coast,
with my watch on the distance,
and Anastasia’s on the depth.

Shortly,
I becharmed the view of a magniloquent cliff,
jutting up from the water,
and in supposition,
protruding just as far downward.

A helical,
crimson red branch hung outward,
casting a thin shadow birthed by the afternoon sun,
into the tranquil and pallid waters.

I ascertained that it led itself to a firm and secure base,
and trailing it with my experience,
saw it followed along a route guiding to surer ground.

“There be our harbour my lady…”
I signified to Anastasia,
and as if on prompt,
she made her way,
shadowing the current.

Within half a breath,
tho’ despite all intent I had not exhaled since spying of the timberline,
we were upon the bouldered coast.

Anastasia proceeded in alongside the corneous,
ossified,
moistened stone as I liberated the weight into the water,
enabling us to hold in pose.

It took only a brief moment to garner the supplies I postulated to be certain the region was innocuous,
for I desire naught of natives or buccaneers to scourge our spoils beneath Artemis’ luminance.

Tho’ I desired to reminisce once more through the darkened hours with my love,
my need for tempestuous fire,
and solid land,
was swelling within me.

Tonight,
we would each be solitaire in body,
yet as e’er,
our bond would be tethered strong in spirit.

Confident in my love’s surety,
I reached out for the branch.

Its bark was smooth,
and its root taut,
for it supported my weight with ease.

Then,
with adroitness astonishing even to myself,
I manoeuvered my way onto the ledge of the rock,
and commenced to examine this unknown,
new realm.

The vessel we saw laid verity to my intellections,
I was surely not the first hither.

Tho’,
the nature of the denizens had yet to be characterized,
and as such,
caution and fearlessness would serve me greater than any fool’s impatience.

Upon reaching a more expansive region,
I nocked the soil to betoken my position.

On the sea,
my skills of navigation were time-sharpened,
but on the solidity of land,
my comfort and guile were far from such.

‘Tis echt,
I did have some proficiency,
but without the salt in my face,
and the wind at my spine,
without the freedom of the waters all around me,
I felt mislaid in spirit,
even if in body my location was defined.

Tho’ eager to be moving on,
I knew I could not mend my love in an eve,
so my preparations for an extended stay were constrained to hap before my desire to leave.

After the tempest,
I fooled myself into reasoning Anastasia would be fine with but some minor tending to,
yet,
my inner coil knew the verity of concealed truths,
the storm had purloined the strength of her composition,
tho’ did not destroy her frame.

I could restore her hull,
fortify her spine and draw out the salty sea,
which still,
so slowly trickled in through her sufferings.

Through fortune,
the lurid,
rampageous torrent damaged her yes,
yet scarcely in a manner that was infeasible to remedy.

In contrast,
she was not even at her worst.

Alas,
tho’ deed may be within the realm of veridical possibility,
the time it would take to complete would likely be longer than the passing of a moon’s revolution.

With that being my existence to come,
I established it more clear-sighted to ready my encampment for the approaching eventide,
and the subsequent nights that would surely follow.

In my scrutiny of the contiguous region,
hope burned fervid,
and virile,
within.

It was obvious,
and evident,
this soil offered more than plenteous supplies;
natural flowing water,
fruits and flora,
and fauna both in the banks,
and in the foliage.

That,
coupled with the wreckage I had seen,
meant my survival was imminent,
as was my love’s.

All I dreaded presently was the terra incognita;
what enigmas this isle had yet to divulge,
only Destiny’s bounded eyes could see.

It required but a momentaneous while for me to clear the region,
and tho’ there was much in evidence of life,
all was indigen to the land and of species not equal to my own.

I feared not being alone,
instead,
I rather yearned for the solitude.

If the aboriginal creatures were felid in birth,
I should not fear their approach.

However,
the vulturous,
predaceous,
raptorial steps of men,
inaudible in the brush,
led solely by an insatiable craving,
no,
lust I would allege,
where the aroma of flesh,
irrespective of sort,
leads men on,
that engendered my worries.

Hunger,
pitted and wrenching.

I had seen the wickedness,
looked into the perpetual void of life’s deepest,
most unfathomable torment,
and I cared not to see it again.

Ravenous.

I feared the deprivation of my own soul,
yet I oppugned my ain ability to turn it away.

I ruminated my own truth,
for naturally I would reject it.

But would I in actuality,
when faced with such penury,
an indigence far worse than even my current situation?

I have witnessed the appetence directly,
and to this breath,
I am in terror of it.

‘Bout a score agone,
I made my way to the shore with Ganges in its heart,
porting near the southern plains to take advantage of the favoured trade privileges.

What I met upon my approach,
I had not been prepared for.

A partial deficit in crops,
which to the local magistrates was reasoned naught unwonted.

It was followed by a grievous and unrelenting drought,
and disquieting accounts were arriving with utterance of rural distress and suffering.

By my arrival,
deaths due to famishment were occurring at an accretive magnitude,
and announcements were made of the survivors feeding on the corpses of the fallen.

Not since the hearsay of such iniquitous and unholy acts afflicted the countryside of the Old World during the Great Famine had there been such a vociferous disregard for the damnation of the phenomenon,
but yet dare I verbalize the necessity for feasting on the pulp being all too discernible.

Scarcely after my arrival,
I was constrained to remain docked by the sire of the tempest I only just endured.

Upon rumination,
I seemed to be capable of delineating each significant moment of my existence to the torrential deluge of savage storms.

That in itself seems to be the root of another narration,
for another eve.

To return to point,
trapped for the nonce likened to my situation presently,
my curiosity had acquired mastery of my senses.

In my youth,
I was much more vivacious,
and awash with verve,
fearing not life,
but in its stead,
in reverence of it.

I had to see if the apologue concerning flesheaters was born of truth,
or disruptive,
riotus,
turbulent legend.

What I uncovered haunts my moonlit thoughts to this day.

Whence leaving port,
I knew I would have an extended,
grievous journey to reach the region in which I sought.

For the fish,
crab,
and other shelled minions of the sea were far too readily forthcoming in my prevalent locale to put forth any veridical hunger.

No,
I had to travel inland,
where the sun and insect had despoiled the harvest,
where the meat and marrow had all fallen ill,
and the sole vestige of nutrient that remained was to be recovered in the laboured breath of man.

I needed to venture where Pestilence and Plague hung their hat,
desolating the soil to such a magnitude,
even the Fallen dared not embark.

I took a two day journey by caravan,
and then another ternion by my ain step,
before I reached the fringe of my boundary.

What stupidity,
what folly laced with foolishness,
blurred and confused my thoughts I deliberate at present in hindsight,
for of course I brought with me my ain nourishments.

To summate,
I was plump and flourishing myself,
and as an outsider,
held no chaste,
moral or emotional bonds to the society that had already far progressed beyond the tabu of norm.

In both my satchel and my skin,
I held a fine feast for those whom I sought out.

What foolishness indeed,
I held entrapped by my innocence!

To return to point once more,
I began moving with circumspection on the third day of my walk,
at leastwise with sufficient sense to agnize the peril,
tho’ I neglected it.

Late that eve,
a diffused,
orange hue,
engulfed the darkening twilight sky,
drawing me to it as a moth to flame.

My senses became charmed,
beguiled,
if not wholly enslaved by the possibilities,
for I had little foresight in what to expect.

As I made my way through the scant copse,
I manoeuvered,
exploiting the same stars in the same sky I had for so long punctuated as a guidepost whilst at sea.

You would opine it to persist,
just in consummate honesty,
it took much time to adapt.

Travel by sea is not as journeying by land,
the latter of which I discovered a natural ineptitude for that I would have ne’er surmised without actually engaging in.

Thusly,
there I was,
hunched and deliberate,
moving with the grace of a lion,
tho’ I knew if discovered,
my form would cursorily ferment to that of the hunted gazelle.

And not knowing the soil,
nor having the experience or ability of survival,
I would surely not subsist.

As I approached,
I did thus cautiously,
for as I have explicated,
my situation was surely grave.

My throat became desiccated,
and my skin tightened as I endeavoured to master my now strained breath.

This was the augury of fear,
which in the zest of my youth I would oft neglect,
until naturally this experience,
which helped alter my persona.

Only I intend to be at that point briefly.

At the tempo of a crawl,
I forged my movements forth,
approaching e’er near the beacon of light.

Upon arrival to the ending of brush and the outskirts of camp,
my eyes widened.

Hovels,
sparse and weather torn,
filled the area.

Their ability to render shelter could merely be delineated by theory,
as upon seeing them I could be sure in practice they were useless.

Dried stick and raddled pelt,
rotted and broken,
was to be its brick and mortar,
tho’ candidly,
I could not envisage it doing any benefit.

Shifting my weight cautiously,
I strained to look deeper into the camp,
to ascertain if I could observe anything more.

At first,
my vantage point was uncharitable,
so I rotated portside to try and post myself in an improved position.

Upon doing so,
my nostrils told me I moved windward,
as the scent of human decay ravaged me.

I tried placing my hand over my face to subdue the odour,
only my actions were futile.

I wished tho’,
the bedevilment would have simply ended there,
but it did not.

For my eyes next caught sight of something I would ne’er have conceived possible.

Beneath the vivid,
lustrous moon,
and blanketed in a quelling heat,
I tried to pace my breath as the fibers of my vesture fastened to my body from the salted sudor,
only I could not do so efficaciously.

For before me,
scarcely a journey in distance,
swallowing the rusted hue I took notice to earlier,
engendered by a fire aflame so glorious,
and so fiercely,
I fancied myself in the kingdom Scheol,
bearing witness to sin in its cruelest,
most unbelievable soma.

Writhing on the earth,
surrounding the ember and flame,
I watched transfixed,
humanity,
or so I enjoined,
falling into the lowest stratum of debauchery.

Prior to that moment,
I could not even ideate such things,
and yet forthwith recalling it,
I question my ain memories.

Bodies upon bodies,
intertwined in a ferine lust.

Scores upon scores,
perhaps more,
for I could not count them wholly.

Their flesh was linked,
without care for gender or age,
in an animalistic delirium,
or dare I say pure euphoric hysteria,
void of all genteel nature.

The sweat and seed lathered the manlike wall as a grumous daub,
binding everyone in concert.

Only as incomprehensible as that may be,
it was not what took me aback.

As any man would,
once faced with the sight of such carnal intimacy,
I could not draw away.

My curiosity kept me rooted,
and centred my vision in concert with an rising swoon within me.

Watching for a long while,
I nearly found myself yearning for their touch,
to lose myself in their sin,
yet that was a fleeting feeling,
a moment so nimble and foregone,
I scarcely knew it was there,
only I would be laying tale to mendacious narration if I did not acknowledge the arousal somewhere within the recess of my psyche.

Withal,
it was then I was reminded of why I was here.

Legends of their intimate transgressions were not what drew me,
and as I gazed on,
the final manifestations of their culminating pleasure was merely foreplay to the apodeictic intent of the evening’s events.

The rhythmic pulsing,
likened to that of a heartbeat,
began to satiate the night.

Initially,
I was marveled by the conjunction of the sound,
yet presently,
realized the dissonance was an intumescent crescendo,
not born of body,
but of tympans from off to the side.

Intonations in an idiom I am foreign to shortly followed.

My eyes remained spellbound on the darkened assemblage,
illuminated softly by the tempestuous fire that was ostensibly intensifying with every passing moment.

I could nearly feel its desiccated warmth upon my cheek,
burning my skin.

Yet in remembrance,
it was likely just the torrid midnight air stifling my core.

Still tho’,
in the moment ‘tween the heat,
the fire,
the chanting,
and the sin,
I wondered if I had left my finite existence unwittingly,
only to be damned to an Inferno I ne’er expected.

A breath passed,
only each moment seemed to be a tortuous eternity.

I yearned to retreat,
to hollo for salvation,
yet I could not.

The Tempter had me within his grasp,
tantalizing my ain hagridden soul.

The pounding of the tympans soon were accompanied by mewls from the interwoven mass.

O’er time,
the whimpers turned to cries,
and cries evolved to screams.

The translucent liquid that bound the group together,
slowly began to turn crimson in semblance.

Initially,
I believed it to be my eyes playing trickery on me,
yet I could not avoid the truth.

The heads of the strong,
the teeth of the mighty,
began to feast upon the flesh of the weak,
and the old.

Carnal pleasure transformed into ferine hunger ‘fore my very eyes,
as I stood witness to the damnation of souls.

Let it be said,
nothing before in any of my travels,
nor since in any of my nightmares,
could match the sickness ‘fore me.

There it was,
as the tales told,
yet far worse.

Man feeding upon man.

Strong devouring weak.

The screams of anguish,
drowned out by the constant,
unwavering,
throbbing of the tympan heartbeat.

The night had come alive in the guise of damnation,
and for the first moment e’er,
I comprehended what it meant to unfeignedly dread for one’s life.

My stomach revolted against the vision,
and my body discharged the fluids and mass roiled within me.

I heaved,
braced myself along the astonishingly cool earth,
then heaved once more.

I reasoned initially,
that my presence would go neglected,
but almost as if picking up on my scent,
if not by the noise created,
then by my ptyalizing bile,
I garnered the attention of bystanders observing the ceremony,
or shall I aver,
feast,
before me.

First a squall,
and then one more,
forced me to regain my senses and still myself.

I retrieved my belongings,
turned and began to race.

Running with a fevered madness,
running in search of a moment to offer atonement for what I just witnessed,
running for my very salvation.

Fleet of foot,
vernal in years,
I was able to develop a tenuous start.

The night was dour tho’,
and the territory foreign.

I was on their land,
in their domain,
and my inherent aptitude could only do so much.

For seemingly an eternity I moved,
without stopping to acquire my breath or rest my bones.

I moved in dread of losing my life,
in fear of losing my soul.

I raced without pace or caution,
and that well-nigh cost my life.

For it was then,
without admonition,
the soil collapsed beneath my step.

I plummeted downward.

The maiden moment seemed to last an eternity,
and in that time I oppugned to where I was descending,
for I already believed I was walking the path of Scheol.

The trice expired tho’,
and my body collided with dirt .

I rammed brutally into the nethermost region of a pit,
nigh a gyrd in length.

As I fell,
my flesh rolled against the side,
as my foot slued along the dirt,
giving way ‘neath me.

I rotated o’er onto my aft,
then my burthen repositioned to the side,
vacillating me ‘round.

And then it came to be.

I impacted heavily upon a significant bit of wood,
cut and sharpened on its jutting end,
piercing my flesh through the side,
back to front.

My foremost instinct was to hollo in anguish,
to shriek out to the empyrean darkness.

Fortuitously tho’,
my reason kept fastened clasp of my consciousness.

If I were to liberate such an outcry,
it would lead the flesheaters directly toward me.

Leastways,
nether the blanket of Nyx or Nox,
whichever to you can so colligate,
would perchance induce the Sin to forgo their hunt,
falsely reasoning my escape,
imparting to me ‘til their dawning rounds to ascertain my unfeigned path to freedom.

Regrettably,
I had not the strength of will,
nor the concentre of nous to valuate my damage properly.

I simply knew this pit rendered my deliverance,
in its own irony,
tho’ it would solely hold true as such for merely a truncated moment.

No,
I had to make way.

Using my best effort focused toward remaining mute,
I drew myself off the tooth of the trap.

Blood ptyalized from my lesion,
as if a geyser,
as the pressure gave way.

Hastily,
I seized the maimed area tightly with my hand.

I next searched my pack for an unsullied fabric,
a segment I saved for any likened exigency,
and placed it dry into my wound.

Shock,
infection,
deprivation of blood,
these fears all ravaged my mind.

Tho’ still,
the conjuncted fate of three was not to be as ghastly as being victim to the life sacrifice.

I did not want my soul to expire on this soil,
soil desecrated by the vile,
by those seemingly banished by He himself.

After taking a heartbeat to seize my breath,
I surveyed my situation.

Wounded,
in anguish,
trapped,
my circumstance seemed grave as I excogitated the possibility of the pit becoming my tomb.

At long last,
I decided upon a course of action.

Exploiting my remaining strength,
which I can aver by this instant to be emphatically and unquestionably enhanced by the fervor of spirit within,
I rived from the jaw of my confine one of the wooden teeth,
and angled it toward freedom.

Then using it as a lift,
I made my way up toward the edge of the pit,
digging soft holes into the dirt to conclude my way.

Astonishingly,
I found it not difficult at all to escape from the entrapment,
and surmised that its purpose was likely intended to be less imprisonment,
and more execution.

Embracing my liberty,
I looked about to be sure it would not be passing.

By fortune of fate,
there were no aborigines within sight or sense,
and so using the same navigation that drew my ego into perdition,
I reversed course to incur the salvation of apodeictic humanity.

To close my segue there,
let me simply convey that I endured,
which should be obvious.

The damage to my side took fore’er to mend,
and the infection I received as consequence well-nigh arrogated my existence.

Nevertheless,
both were tended to by physicians with invariant,
steadfast hands.

In the score since,
I have nary mentioned a thought,
let alone a breath on the moment.

However,
sitting here alone,
on this isle,
I could only sense a kindred trepidation,
birthed by the dread of those events.

And tho’ this isle was lavish and alive,
the fear remained strong.

I faced the threshold to Scheol erst,
I desired not to regard it anew.

Thusly,
retaining those events at the forefront of my intellect,
I concluded by surveying this region.

Felicity tho’ and through,
I found nothing in the vein of peril,
so I settled upon my cleared position to ready camp,
near enough to my love,
in the event of enigmatic mysteries unbeknown,
by both reason and fear.

From atop the cliff,
backed against rock for shelter from the winds,
I set my place.

Eve’s crepuscle,
was coming swiftly ‘pon me.

At long last,
with task and list complete,
I conjured flame to warm my meal,
the first I had in time not remembered.

With my venter modest and snarled,
the sparse broth,
of which I opted to save the heavier contents for when my body would readily receive it,
was more than adequate in serving my appetence,
particularly when pooled with foraged berries from the neighbouring thicket.

As Apollo made his way o’er the horizon,
I forged my means ‘round the precipice to face westward.

It had been far too long,
since I had the opportunity to revel in such a view,
particularly from unmoving placement.

With a delicate zephyr,
ruffling my soiled shirt,
whisking through my hair,
lank from jaw and crown,
I relished in the moment.

The ginger-tinged sky,
void of shadowy fog,
was being overtaken,
by darkness’ manus.

The outreached tendrils slowly made their way athwart the land,
as Apollo melted off ‘neath the heavens.

As the natural transformation was taking place,
shifting everlasting radiance into unbounded obscurity,
I reviewed through my mentation,
the strategy for the forthcoming day.

I would foremost,
and without pause,
need to seek out the beached vessel I took notice to when circling this isle.

By Anastasia’s guide,
such excursion would be elementary.

However,
I wonted not,
to bring further trauma upon my love,
so,
in her stead,
opted I to journey by foot and step.

I imagined such a trek would take considerably longer,
and as such,
would need to commence my departure early in the morn.

Once the vessel’s position had been navigated by land,
I had to next ascertain its condition,
and pray that its degradation would not be to the point of inutility.

And if all were to go well,
a concept in life that ne’er seems to be so,
my following challenge would be to perceive a way to either port Anastasia near the wreckage,
or channel the wreckage to her port.

Regardless,
the challenges that stood before me were daunting.

Nevertheless,
I had been in far worse positions through previous and past trials,
so ‘morrow’s burdens bore little consequence on my nous.

Shadows now blanketing the land with all its depth and steadfast intensity,
I decided time to be judicious and prudent in moment for returning to my encampment,
and invite a serene,
and still,
slumber.

Exploiting Luna’s light as my steer,
and the pinholes in the heavens as my markers,
I skillfully returned to my haven.

The walk back came with a familiar ease,
as if I shared a breath with Diana herself.

I took quite particular attention to this feeling,
as I had never felt this way prior upon terra firma.

No.

In past,
seafaring vessels are where I found solace.

As such,
this innate comfort felt unco,
yet assuasive in the same breath.

I had little understanding of what this isle had in store for me,
but in that moment,
I thought it to be something,
altering.

Within a short while,
I had arrived back,
my navigation made easier by the untiring firelight I had left in my place.

After stoking the flame with yet another brick of branch,
I lastly lay my crown down,
and body within my bedroll.

In hindsight,
and given the fact that it has been longer than Chronos’ breath since,
I cannot recall the duration that passed before I drifted,
tho’ I assure you,
it must have been merely a moment,
for my fatigue could not be overstated.

No,
I was as weary as you are now imagining a man who had been through my trials,
that day and the ones prior,
would be.

What I do recollect specifically tho’,
and in vivid detail,
likely in fact as I have since returned to the night vision at least once per Luna’s visit since,
are the images and tale that ravaged my mind’s eye that eve.

I was but a lad,
tho’ with my full and current consciousness,
trapped in my shell of youth,
in the weakness,
torment,
and confusion.

I awoke as this youthful doppelganger of myself,
on a lean bed,
enveloped entirely in darkness.

My vision tried to adjust,
but it was not meant to be.

For the shadow that encircled was grumous and weighted.

My inhalation was laboured by its force,
while not in a way familiar,
or given to,
smoke of flame.

Instead,
more so as if air thick as stone were pressed flush against my now feeble and frail chest.

I exserted my hands,
small and smooth,
yearning to discover any point of reference.

As I moved to the edge however,
true granite entombed me.

On all sides,
from edge to edge,
wall,
cold,
deep,
and encompassing.

I pummeled hand against stone,
but this vernal exterior was of no match for the barrier,
and within only a moment,
flesh was torn,
and blood flowed.

I looked up,
yet all I could regard was the infinite darkness that suffered my breath.

I tried to prod ‘neath the woven string that I lay upon,
but it was unremitting.

There I was,
trapped and alone,
my mentations captive to my youth,
and my juvenility,
prisoner to the transcendent.

This realization caused my breath to hasten.

Perspiration poured from my flesh as if a river strong.

My inside began to quiver,
as my throat became clinched,
and desiccated.

I tried calling out,
yet no sound echoed.

My silent resonations only further damned what modest control over my sanity I retained.

Without consent from self,
the primal darkness within commandeered,
and began bludgeoning my flesh against the ramparts that confined me.

With every gust,
ache shot through my arms and down my spine.

Tears began to masque my face.

My psyche knew it pointless,
but the fears of puerility were so fiercely ablaze,
I could not garner control over them.

Ultimately,
the pain became intolerable.

Yards of white were now tainted with the blood of my youth,
my crimson life painting the sheets as if the Tempter’s canvass.

I then passed out,
subdued by the unbearable anguish.

As my shell fell under,
my true mind awoke,
and in a scuttle,
and with a gasp
I awoke from my slumber alongside the isle’s contoured breast.

In dread,
I surveyed the area.

My breath was still strained,
and my pulse raced,
likened I imagine to Icarus’ final moment.

It was then,
as I finally began to gain control,
the sensation of seemingly unceasing pain ravaged my intellect.

I hollo’d out abruptly,
cursing God and self,
memory and life even,
as I examined my arms.

Bloodied and swollen.

Discoloured and damaged.

I wished them away,
the arms or the ache,
I did not care which,
but neither fell victim to my prayers.

That night,
I slept not a moment longer.

As mentioned,
on occasion since,
I have awoken in that same state.

Upon my return,
the sheets are still tainted,
tho’ the air is not as dense,
nor the walls as solid.

I find myself able to work them without mercy for the remainder of my slumber,
and no trauma when I waken.

Therein lies the rub tho’,
for I can only awaken after I sufficiently calm myself to sleep within.

Once I do,
and both the psyche of my youth and the mentation of self find a harmonious existence,
only then can I open my eyes once more to reality.

That night tho’,
the suffering I sustained was all too genuine,
and prior to that eve,
the delusion had ne’er been a part of my being,
yet since,
it cannot be shaken.

For the rest of that night I lay there,
incapable of sleep and unable to judder the pain and torment both body and mind were suffering from.

Once Apollo finally began to loom,
I welcomed his warmth and solace.

Mercifully,
the vessel which housed my mentations now was of coriaceous constitution,
so tho’ damaged,
it was tolerable enough to proceed with my day.

And so,
without further thought to the experience,
my discount born of fear and not ignorance,
I ventured forward with my existence.

In time since,
I have exhausted untold time brooding o’er my ghastly night terrors,
and what they are to signify.

Regrettably,
for all my strengths,
comprehension of man’s psyche is not among my skills.

I have depleted far too much time in my own solitude to be an inspector of the human element.

Perhaps in that is where the answer truly rests tho’.

Alas,
may it be for those far more in touch with the sciences of man to harvest insight into my torment,
whilst it is simply my place to play the bard,
and lay the tale.

So,
with the heavens above me cycling back to their illuminated state,
I ply’d my hunger with salted bread,
and wild berry,
whilst preparing my pack.

In only took a short while to prepare myself for the journey,
and barricade the encampment from foraging animal.

The morn’s dew lie thick on the greens of the realm,
and dampened my clothes as I made my way ‘long the natural trails.

I followed close to the coast,
as my destination rested against the water-wall anyhow.

Strapped to my back was the sheath to the lengthy steel I now clutched in my right hand,
enabling clear passage when the brush became too dense.

As I made my way,
the tranquility of the isle was all too eerie.

I saw not a creature scurry,
nor a bird in flight.

I took notice of no rustling of panic,
nor squelches of defense.

In point of fact,
for such an isle bountiful in fruit and greens,
it seemed desolate of any breath,
save my own,
something I determined to be quite curious.

It took all of the morn,
and a dip partly into the ‘noon,
‘fore I at last caught view of my destination.

I advanced from the sou’west,
heading toward the nor’east.

My course had been remarkably simple,
having ne’er lost sight of each step previous,
nor confused by any step forward.

I was thankful to whoever ruled my spirit on that day,
for allowing at least,
that one manageable task.

As I made my way,
it was along a route of even grade,
and after my labour with the steel,
cleared foliage.

This would make any relocation of salvage all that much easier,
an invited circumstance considering the trials I had been through of late.

I merely longed to be on my way,
back with my love,
on the waters that harboured my solace.

Looking frontward,
I perched behind a tree,
wider in girth than my own frame,
and pressed my mass against its rough,
and crumbled,
bark.

I opted to sit for a moment,
silent as my own laboured breath would permit me leastways,
and wait.

Wait for signs of peril.

Wait for signs of life.

Tho’ neither came.

Beyond the break in green was a diminutive barrier of timber,
washed in from the sea.

Past that,
minuscule grains of sand merged into a halo of minute gravel and kelp before the water began.

The seashore was beautiful,
tranquil,
and serene,
as if charmed by the whisper of Dionysus’ breath.

With all seemingly harmless,
I cautiously ventured a step to the fore,
and then followed it with another,
calmly.

My awareness was heightened,
keen to glean any category of hazard,
be it conscious or not.

Verity be told,
I was just as disquieted by a snare in the sand,
as I was brute in the brush.

For since there was a vessel,
likely there would be a crew,
captain,
or survivor.

And if not,
then likely more there would have to be indigenous threats,
so far of which I had seen no sign.

Either way,
this vessel did not depart port on its own,
and the obscurity of its legend had yet still to be defined.

By the moment my mentations were finalized,
I had arrived at my destination.

Still no signal or sound of fury bristled,
so I lightened the duties assigned to my sixth sense,
and focused on examining the wreckage before me.

“Yes,”
I uttered under a low breath,
as I moved my hands slowly,
carefully,
‘long the still firm wood of her hull,
“You shall compliment Anastasia well.”

I made my way to the stern,
which with the tide out,
was resting in wet sand,
but no immediate water.

From the rear,
the shell was too dilapidated,
worn,
and unfit for use.

However,
in my scrutiny I caught sight of the vessel’s name,
Raine,
and as I whispered it to the breeze,
for a moment I could well-nigh hear the anguished cries of a lost crew.

For a long while I examined the vessel.

Its mass was slighter than that of Anastasia,
and much more manageable for a solitary crew than even my ain love.

I made my way within,
staggered to find not an article of man’s vestige had been left behind.

No garments or provisions,
instrument of intellect,
or beacon for aid.

I found this unforeseen,
for it meant Raine’s chattels had either previously been pirated,
or removed by their lawful possessor and taken away.

As I maintained my search,
I studied the aggregated damage to the vessel,
a bit taken back.

By now,
much of the hull on the starboard side toward her stern had been ravaged by the salty tides,
seemingly having been here a long while.

Given tho’ the spoil,
which seemed as if caused by a cleave from the coral of the sea,
it was rather negligible,
and with the adjacent driftwood,
and even minimal supplies,
should have been effortlessly serviced by any capable sailor.

It caused me question,
who would captain such a vessel,
one that could be so effortlessly overcome by the winds and storm of Neptune’s tempest.

I would balance it to be either one of great skill,
or one severely lacking in the proper proficiency,
and upon my primary examination,
would wager it to be the latter.

With all this in consideration,
I moved to the edge of the vessel,
stood tall on her side,
my hand gripped tight upon her weathered mast,
and surveyed o’er the shoreline.

It was then,
off in the distance,
further downward in which I had not yet been,
I caught sight of netting,
large in bulk.

Curiosity perked,
I resolved Raine should hold firm,
and Anastasia fine for the time,
that it would merit the brief voyage to further enquire what lie afar.

Thus,
I plunged my weight to the sand,
and with prudence no longer at my forefront,
quickly made my way to the roped netting I witnessed from the ship.

My hurried steps imparted a wide and deep trail in the grains beneath me,
but the thrill,
enthusiasm,
and anticipation of man’s salvage forced my rationale to be neglected.

My steps seemed to trudge along no matter how fleetly I attempted to move,
and my breath billowed with every metre I travel,
tho’ it detered me not.

Upon reaching my destination,
the purport of the netting became obvious to me,
if not ill-conceived.

It seemed to been used in effort,
in attempt even,
to capture sea creatures,
fashioned homemade,
with gaps far too spacious to seize anything of meaning.

It nearly made me chortle,
but then my thoughts drifted to the elegiac soul who felt,
and likely hoped,
this would render his own deliverance.

What uncertainties I did have were now fleeting,
as my emotions shifted now toward concern.

The notion was strong within that whoever tailored this netting
knew very little ‘bout marine survival,
and would perhaps be in need of assistance.

Therefore,
with that deliberation premiere in my nous,
I scrutinized the area for proof of life.

Tho’ I caught sight of no marks,
or trails in the beach,
I did take note to broken away brush at the foliage’s break,
and swiftly made my way up.

From there,
I noticed a trail,
fashioned of step and weight,
and made my way ‘long.

I likely should have been more wary in my advance,
but my concern was not for self,
but instead for Raine’s own love.

I pursued the path,
and soon was upon a clearing from the trees,
and brush.

Before my eyes,
a small encampment had been crafted,
cluttered,
and now in disarray.

I hesitated,
listened for signs of life,
but as had been quite common ‘pon my arrival,
only unstill silence permeated.

If not for Zephyr’s howls,
the crashing of the waters,
I may have thought myself deaf.

But back to point.

By encampment,
what do I mean?

Let me clarify,
to give your own intellect the ability to envisage my ain recollections.

The locale was clear,
with dirt and short grass circled about.

Trees,
thick forestry in detail,
encircled it to my path,
with a small trail leading ‘way from the inverse side.

Within the encampment was a small,
canvas shelter,
triangular in form,
and staked to the soil.

A line ran from it to a neighboring tree,
and garments hung from that line.

I ventured forward,
now a bit more cautious,
in control,
so I could seize a closer glint of what was on the other side of the obstructions.

“Egad!”
I then suddenly shrieked,
devoid of facility to control as my stare centered.

My body buckled as I took a step back.

I twisted my crown in abhorrence,
dread,
and terror.

For just a short distance ‘fore me,
lie a man.

However,
the man ‘fore me was not as one would suppose.

His remains lie still,
silent,
whilst his soul had since departed this realm.

Now,
given my exploits o’er the past,
gazing upon a corpse should not have troubled me.

Yet it did.

For this carcass was unlike any I had e’er seen.

With caution,
care,
I braved my way forward.

My curiosity perked,
I needed to,
I wanted to,
perceive more.

True I could run,
but this vestige would be burned in my mind’s eye fore’er now.

I simply had to uncover more.

I stepped frontward,
and the odour of decay,
recognizable to my senses as you now know,
ravaged me.

I could not only smell it within my nose,
but actually taste it ‘pon my tongue.

Bitter and rancid.

Circling ‘round the corpse harboured a mass of flies and gnats,
feasting on the decay.

Moving closer,
I further scrutinized the body.

It was outstretched ‘long the dirt and grass,
resting beside a fire pit that looked as if it had been used lately,
if not recently.

The crimson life that once flowed within this man had made its way along the ground,
following the slightest grades,
and pooling together as if miniature oceans of thick,
viscous death.

I have reserved the most ghastly,
gruesome,
and grisly part for last tho’.

For I cannot opine what your own thoughts are as to the cause of such horrific misery.

Thus,
I shall force your curiosity to wait not a moment longer.

This man lay there,
on his back as I had mentioned,
with hand on hilt,
and blade pushed deep into skull and flesh.

I wish I were Dante,
so I could weave the horror for you more proficiently,
but ‘las,
I am not.

Nevertheless,
I can do my best to let you know,
that if you were to conceive an image as dreadful as a daemon’s darkest delight,
this would be worse.

If you were to observe a sight so repugnant it made you churn,
this would be worse.

If you were to contrast tale of your own shadowed sins to Beane’s,
this would be worse.

Yet needing more,
I moved in close,
inclined myself down,
and tried to push through the sickness of sight,
of smell.

On my knees,
I examined closer.

‘Tis echt,
his blade was plunged deep,
breaking through his brow.

Peculiarly,
his hand was roped to the hilt,
covered in his own blood,
plainly spit from the gash.

His mouth was malformed in a monstrous position,
as if ‘tween scream and mirth.

“What madness?”
I found myself whispering out,
“would bring a man to such fate?”

I searched ‘round the remains as best I could,
to see if there were signs of other steps,
or indicant of foul play.

And even tho’ my skills in such inquiry were novice at best,
all seemed at rest.

By now,
the swarm had become too much.

For I noticed it was not just the winged variety that were feasting,
but the slithering as well.

I was a bit surprised no superior creature had yet found its way here,
as the odour of such spoiled decay and demise usually tugs at their wanton appetites.

That enigma tho’,
simply fell as yet another with this isle.

As that thought escaped my psyche,
my gaze peered downward and caught sight of a small leather wrapping,
tied taut against and shielding,
a tattered assemblage of parchment.

A journal it seemed.

I felt an anticipation rise within,
for perhaps through his chronicle,
this man could offer clue,
or insight e’en,
to his demise,
or his ship,
as I imagined him to be Raine’s passenger,
or to his time here on this isle.

I knew not what I would find,
or if it be better I not know.

Nevertheless,
when one has the opportunity to receive a dead man’s tale,
it should be done so with the attention of all the senses.

Lest his fate becomes your own…

London Rain

London Rain
by Jonas Hyde

Twilight’s tears pelt against the panes of my eyes.

For you I weep on this eve my love,
listening to the sound of London rain.

The pouring,
streaming sleet outside,
dances in concert with my own rivers of sorrow.

It was said when somebody knows you,
there is no comfort like that,
well you know me best,
and losing you is no comfort at all.

Then it was said when somebody needs you,
there is no drug like that,
well I need you now,
need you to take away my pain.

The night’s gale sings as she hears our tale,
the tale that has made us both cry,
the tale of our lives.

Yes this evenfall shall be the darkest of all,
yet in that lonely solitude the rain’s rhythm intones what my soul feels…

Nothing heals me like you do.

Sonnet of the Stars

A new piece written in English Sonnet form. Enjoy…

Sonnet of the Stars
by Jonas Hyde

‘Pon night’s eve, gaze to the sky as I do,
for there the stories of our lives are penned,
and know in my own heart I think of you,
as the endless sky, our love has no end.

My star you are, and the moon is our light,
guiding us through the tests of life and fear,
Waiting fore’er for time to be right,
As every eve without you brings a tear.

So I sing this sonnet to you my love,
As you look toward our sky for answers,
And to your fears a solution thereof,
In the guise of stars’ ethereal dancers.

So cry your fears and tears no more my dear,
Our time is near as fore’er I’m here.

New Cover

So as the book started to come together and additional works were added, the cover ended up being changed. Here is the newest version…

J/H