The Wild Wind and The Rose

Inside the temple all was bare,
No sign of spirit anywhere
Because the hunter ruled the land.
The wild wind was his chosen band,
It’s roar was music to his ears,
And festive were the frozen years.

Pure ice, the lands in his domain,
For other seasons made no gain
Upon his cold demanding soul.
He vowed no season would unfold
Because the summer was so weak
Against the winter at it’s peak.

Oh, he had heard of other climes
Which were revealed by foreign signs.
He knew such things were based upon
The gods who wove the falsest dawn
To ever grace the earth and sky;
Besides, he knew, spring made you cry.

The hunt alone kept him alive,
And only winter fuelled the drive
To guarantee a hunt’s success.
It was the way he did impress
The citizens of his domain
Whose freedom none would ever regain.

So wrapped in thought, he didn’t hear
The timid knock of one in fear
Who needed shelter for the night.
She dearly wished to end her plight
And share some laughter for awhile-
The girl with April in her smile.

She knocked again. This time he heard.
He grabbed the door without a word,
Prepared to crush the foolish one
Who dared to make his dream undone.
With iron fist, he pulled the door
And halted fast, touched to the core.

She’s beautiful, his thoughts they ran,
A fine companion for a man,
And I am worthier than most.
From hereon in I’ll be her host
That she will come to prize my heart,
And for our future make a start.

The hunter always got his way
But then, to guarantee she’s stay,
He locked her in the dungeon dark.
Some time in there might fan a spark
Of love to light her shining eyes
Without the wherefores and the whys.

By day, he waited patiently,
By night, he dreamed so joyfully
Of her remaining by his side.
But fickle is the rolling tide
And sorrow filled her heart, not love,
Which springs from kindness, not a shove.

She faded with the passing sun,
And swiftly did her essence run
‘Til finally her eyes she closed.
Once she had given up the ghost
The hunter cast her in the snow
And swore to let the old ways grow.

At first, the hunter was content
To realize his dreams were spent,
And he began to hunt anew.
So glad to know the wild wind blew,
He little thought about her style-
The girl with April in her smile.

But as he hunted one fine day
His happieness was torn away.
The wild wind shrieked, the trees they danced,
His heart exulted at the chance
To kill, and kill, and kill once more
Just like the gods he did adore.

But then, as if he struck a wall
Or heard an unfamiliar call,
He stopped. Before him in the snow
There was a single bright red rose.
Unshaken by the wild wind’s roar,
It spoke of spring and so much more.

He knew the girl and rose were one,
The center of a world so young.
The girl with April in her smile
Still had the power to beguile.
Much more than all the gods above
He spirit spoke of hope and love.

The temple is no longer bare,
The hunter’s always going there
To muse, in nonaggressive style,
Upon the sweet enchanting smile,
The girl in whom the smile did glow,
And who became a rose in snow.

I did not write this, it was written for me. But I thought it needed to be shared, and I knew that you would all appreciate it for how beautiful it is.

Dance with the Snow

It's Sunday night, Thanksgiving night actually, and I'm sitting in my Grandma's old, stuffy sitting room. It is full of old photos that are faded and torn around the edges, and dishes-dishes so old, so precious, that we never use them. The fear of breaking them it too great. So they sit safe, but trapped, collecting dust in their prison of the china cabinet.

The sound of my aunt's annoying dogs barking at the door, jumping up at the food and snorting up the crumbs mixes into the conversation that swells around me. From my uncle's low, patronizing voice, to my sister shrill squeal; All are mixed together in many different conversations and arguments. All but mine: I am choosing to ignore them. They always talk about the same things anyways.

Instead, I amuse myself by looking out the window at the fresh snow that is covering the world with a soft, white blanket. The snowflakes are dancing around each other, pirouetting like little icy ballerinas, and when they float into the orange glow of the streetlight, they sparkle. I long to be outside with them. To run and jump and dance alongside them. Really, it's not the snowflakes I long to be with, I really want to be anywhere but here.

My grandmother's voice pulls me out of my daydream "It's ready!". I pull myself out of the stiff chair and follow the herd into the dining room, lured in by the scent of turkey.


All dreams of snowflakes quickly disappear.

Tumblr

So. I have made a decision.
THIS is for writing, from now on out.
And my new TUMBLR is for more real life/random happenings.
Just to keep everything a bit more organized. Check em' both out at:
www.hannadreams.tumblr.com