As He Prayed

As He Prayed

Ron Koppelberger

App 1900 Words

Stone Rare stood on the precipice. The moon base was deserted and the only signs of life were the silent rush of air that filled the dome overhead and the screams of the undead population. The edge of the open vista standing before him was long and pointed to the distant sun, a twilight in moon phase. The raised Dias glowed a bright fiery red and the tendrils of light that spread out from around the platform stretched into the dust and open plaza below.
He looked down into the valley and prayed, there were tattered remnants of what had once been human shambling and shuffling across the dusty plaza walk. They moaned and moved closer, he was safe for now yet alone in his human mortality, except for the virus.
Stone continued to pray as the plaza filled with the damaged remains of what had been the moon bases population, destroyed, leaking blood and viscera, eyes sunken and purposeful to the allegiance of need, wont, wild fury and desire. They craved the human experience, the flesh of what was not dead, what stayed close to the bosom of god. Perhaps it was because they were cursed by the virus or maybe they were in the silent grasp of a more powerful force, something dark and evil.
Stone turned from the platform and made his way back into the complex, he had his Rambler, a laser gun, powerful and ready for the undead meandering the depths of the station. His face wore days of stubble and he rubbed his check, chapped and sore from the dry air in the station, the humidifiers weren’t working right. He prayed again, a miracle was what he needed.
Pushing open the door to lavatory A he went to the wash basin and splashed some warm water onto his face, something moved in the last bathroom stall. He looked close to the floor and saw a pair of ankles, pants around them next to the porcelain base of the toilet. Two hands, flesh mottled and reddish crept down and pulled the waistband of the pants up. He looked into the mirror again, his eyes were lined weary and old, he felt old. The stall door banged open and a man shuffled out with some effort. He was bluish and his lips were bulled taunt in a snarl. He could tell the man had been one of the bases technicians, he had died recently.
Stone moved backward and away from the man, he was slow and unable to manipulate his shamble into a run. As the lavatory door shut tightly behind him he looked into the dim light of the hallway toward the rows of security lockers.
The goal was to find the main lab, locked and behind a security veil, then with an antidote, what he hoped was, the antidote in hand, he would make his way to the launch station where the small craft waited for flights to earth. He knew there was a chance they had gone home infected, the virus active and waiting for the unsuspecting population of the planet. The cure he thought with a touch of hope, a brief moment of approaching sunshine. He knew they had a vaccine, the problem was the lab techs had all died and behind locked vaults.
He went to the lockers in the long hall and tried a few. Locked and several hanging open with the remnants of what had been a normal existence. A sound from the darkness of the shadowy hallway, the sound of approaching bodies, and screams, there were a crowd of them, bloodied torn and decaying in the confines of the moon base. Stone paused for a moment, turning toward them, he fired a few shots from the Rambler toward the ceiling panels overhead. The tiles collapsed to the floor in a heap of tangled framework and plastic tile. It would slow them down.
He moved back down the hall and turned left toward the science labs, lockers lined this part of the base as well. For a moment he considered the virus and how it had come to be, what had they been aiming for. Fields popped into his mind. Fields had been the last living person he had talked to. One minute he had been sleeping and the next he was yelling and thrashing with angry need. Stone had placed a single shot to Fields head and finally he had ceased to move. He had cried and mourned the loss because he knew he was alone with the undead.
The shadows stretched in fuzzy rows confined mostly by the steel doors to the labs. Stone thought for a moment, the coming winter, cold lonely and dead yet shambling, aching for the warmth of new blood…food, all they wanted was a taste, a taste left for the undead and here he was pulsing with life and, he considered, the will to survive, the will to get home and away from the nightmare. Stone pulled out the key card and moved closer to the locked doors of the science lab. There was a narrow metal gash in the left hand side of the door, carefully he pushed the card into the slot. He prayed, would it work; near the end of the hall plopping wet and methodical, a leaky faucet, the sound of a water balloon making contact with a hard surface. The figure was standing then falling face forward, up and down inches at a time with each fall. Its legs were broken and the shambling gate was more like a lunge as the dead man fell over and over again.
The door hummed and opened for stone, his prayers had been answered. Slipping inside he pressed a green button on the wall and the door slid shut.
The lab was empty except for the rows of metal cages and test tubes lining the counter; there was an observation room lined with red smeared glass and behind a half dozen peering faces, licking at the glass, tapping for weak spots , he turned away from the taboo to the far side of the room, Salvation. The refrigeration unit was working, he could see the yellow flashing light above the door. Stone moved to the refrigeration unit and pulled open the heavy double doors. Inside were an array of plastic bottles and syringes filled with the vaccine. What a tragedy, they had never had the time to use it.
Stone grabbed one of the syringes, the liquid inside was clear and pure looking. Rolling up his sleeve he inserted the needle into his arm and injected the clear substance labeled X-243 into his arm. His arm tingled from the injection as he sighed with relief. There were several portable freezer packs on the shelf and he loaded them up with the syringes. Strapping them across his shoulders he made his way back to the entrance.
Stone grabbed the Rambler from his waistband and prepared to shoot his way back down the long dark corridor. He pressed the green button again and the door slid open with a whoosh. The hall smelled terrible, all decay and coppery as he let the shadows close in around him again. The crowd at the end of the hall was bigger now and they were screaming as they bumped into one another, otherwise they hadn’t made it as far as the science labs.
He had to make it to the docking bay, one floor down from him. Maybe he could avoid the crowd. He turned left into the darkness as he headed for the stairwell at the end of the hall.
He was burning the breach between what was real, what was nightmare and what had become real as he stepped across the torn and broken remains of several lab workers, for a moment he had spotted movement, there wasn’t much left of them the others had eaten them nearly to the bone yet tiny groans came from one of them, in that moment he cursed the scientists and what they had done, he had to make it back to earth. He knew there was a chance the others had been infected, they needed the vaccine and he needed to be away from this god forsaken hell.
Yanking at the green metal door near the end of the hall he peered into the darkness of the stairwell, Silence and the distant echo of the stations air control units. He stepped in and felt his way to the rail near the stairs. Cautiously he made his way down the two flights of stairs to the launch deck.
Light crept in from the corners of the door and he tugged at the handle. The door moved a couple of inches outward as it bumped up against something. Looking through the crack in the door he spotted the problem, there was a body directly in front of the door. He pushed harder and the body sat up and screamed wildly. Stone pulled out the Rambler and poked it through the door at the thrashing figure. He fired a few quick bursts and the dead man lay still.
A nascent moment of breath stole over him and he felt energized, he would make it, to earth, with the cure. He hoped for the morrow with a passionate intensity, the struggle would be worth it, he had to make it. Another pulse of energy overwhelmed him and he pushed the door open wide to the space port and the loading dock.
He paused for a moment to pick something up out of the floor, a broach, silver and ancient etchings, it opened and a picture of a young eager couple stared out at him. He closed the broach clasp and placed the jewel in his pocket.
There were three ships at dock and another three that had managed to escape. Stone walked up the boarding ramp into one of the ships. He closed the ramp behind him and made his way to the control area. Purveyors of revolution and space travel had never foreseen this situation. He rolled open the port doors and looked through the bay window into the cool dark confines of space. There were a few dozen bodies spinning lazy circles around the entrance, weightless and unseeing. He fired the main engine and the rocket roared to life. The coordinates would be preset for earth all he had to do was launch.
The child in him was thrilled with the legend in myth, space travel and home away from the awful horror of the moon base, “Do you own what belongs to the heart of desire and eternal rest, scarlet tears and the love of another day for tomorrow will be with the help of our breath.” he said aloud as the rocket launched into space for earth.
The starlit sky called the heavens and the hope that Stone felt was overwhelming, but what if. They had gone on infected, what if the vaccine had never made it to earth, what if? He looked forward to the approaching earth and a shiver of fear ran down the length of his body. A new frontier, he had to hope and he did have two freezer packs filled with the vaccine. “What lay before the temple in seasons of chance and change, an alm and a prayer for mankind, a prayer for mankind.

Supernatural Ease

Ron Koppelberger

Supernatural Ease

The delicate touch of the endless eternal twilight horizon lit the mid point between dark and light on 531- G, daydreams and cold coffee filled the days with the fruit of long passions and an aching desire to see spring blossoms rather than Krokus bloom and weed. Hunter Nobel stretched his tired legs and stood up from the metal folding chair. He thought of home and the sun, the earths sun, steady, bright and forever. She hadn’t wanted to come to the new west as they called it, she hadn’t wanted him to go to the new frontier either.
She had stood before him, haughty, emerald eyed and lanky with auburn hair, hands on hips with a defiant look on her face. “You don’t need to go to that Damn planet Hunter, we have everything we want here on earth!” she had proclaimed with a gentle nod of her head. The argument had lasted two hours and in the end he had watched her walk out of his life.
The sky bleed spears of crimson stain and to the rear all was pitch black. Gathering his camp he moved toward the distant horizon. The whisper of forgotten ghosts caressed the landscape and ruffled the endless sea of Krokus; the flowers had been the settlers choice and they flourished with a supernatural ease like everything else on 531. In the distance bright stars glimmered and called for the discovery of other worlds, other lands and adventures, adventures in darkness and light, heaven and hell, sought diversities that sang the songs of lonely and populated worlds.
Dandelion wine and the taste of bitter alms whet his thirst, a strange combination but quenching, fulfilling the moment with fact, the fact that he was alive and alone in his day or perhaps night, the defining line had become blurry 531 blurry. The shadows of a faraway mountain range stood behind him calling out to the sea of glass that poured from the sky, the wavering blooms of thousands of Krokus blooms and ragged weed. He had planted Oaks and Maples in the darkness of the plain, always hoping for the best, trees and some semblance of earth; closer to the light side of the division he had planted apple trees and Blackberry bushes. The planet was not quite ready for the populace that longed to populate her shores. The oceans were vast and of both fresh water and salt, salt and tears, fresh water and marine life that resembled earths.
He had seen the seas from the bay window of the ship that had dropped him off. He had thought of emerald eyes and the desire to run, full speed backwards, nevertheless he had pushed. The natural ponds and lakes were in the thousands and the water was clean and unpolluted, filled with what looked like trout and tasted like chicken.
A season of passing marked the trail between the delivery ship and where he had come from. He would plant and prod the soil hoping for new life, the prospect of shadowy dreams bequeathing the future, and that alone made it worth it, the prospect of futures bidden to the heart of 531, for everyone on earth, for the spirits of South, North, East and West, the new west done in flourishes of harvest wont, the spirit and soul of holy blossoms and discovery, lands anew, the tide of tomorrow. A stand of rock lay before him outlined in jagged points and edges. He headed toward the rocks and his footprints left the evidence of his passing between one point and another, between the seas of flowers and a small outcropping of stone with a pond in the center. He made his way to the center of the rocks and opened a small metal container. Eggs, from a variety of fish, with a toss he dumped the contents into the small pond. The trifles of god he thought as he peered into the water after the eggs. The evidence of his purpose was the fireflies that scattered from the surrounding weed, they were big as big as dragonflies and bright like tiny light bulbs. They were a sight to behold and there were thousands of them brought by the settlers before. After a few moments he moved away from the pond and headed further toward the twilight forgetting the dark side of the planet for a moment and knowing that his journey into the light would take months, nevertheless he saw the sun in his dreams and he moved forward toward the rendezvous point.
He watched as shooting stars lit the horizon for a moment, a meteor shower, dozens of fire bright stars in the distance. The day saw the ancient taboo of man and new life rather than the old ways of war and confusion. He moved ahead and the path remained long as he planted and sowed saving the last for the sun. The wheat seed, the promise of what would feed the planet, the wonder of saffron colored fields in endless arrays of freedom and passion, he would save the wheat for the sunshine on 531, making this the place of shelter the conclave of what fate would allow.
As the weeks passed he planted and sowed the terrain with life and promise, the sun grew larger and larger on the horizon as he moved out of the twilight to the eternal day. The sky glowed a hazy blue and gray as he planted the wheat field, and he took care to the soil making sure the toil would be beneficial to the need of a future population, always keeping in mind the fires that lit the earth and her wanting ways. As the tenth week approached he saw a tiny dot in the distance, a transport, a seed ship brought forth by the purveyors of the wheat and the Krokus. He moved forward with the hope and expectation of a fresh spirit, the soul of a new freedom that would bring 531 to its destiny.

August Snow

Ron Koppelberger Jr.

App 3124 Words

August Snow

Copyright 2007

　

Chapter One

“Demons in bloodless abandon heedless, immovable wanting the

Possession of paralytic charms and the infidelity of

Elemental tangents. Disturbed in conclave window glass

And frozen in artic, gnashing consummation of souls in

Distressing late attrition”

*******

Naive, innate enchanting witchery in the sinew of a dream

And the welcome of a quest for the dauntless bustle of futures

Without sin, prophecy forgiven in the cashew of unbidden barefoot

Clarity and journeys to begin.

Soothsayers and the fate of a king in rag-bag vagabond

Discretion, searching the legacy of a fulfilling consigned

Venture and direction, crystal plums of glass and mosaics of raven eyed gypsy smoke. The pittance of a penny for a curious remedy and the

Forbearance of a sainted knight as the journey unfolds and the byway

Of delirium becomes light.

*******

An oath and tears from the eye of an angel in scarlet and azure

Tincture, a white witches spangle. The besotted touch of

Phoenix agility entwined by the breath of a flame and blessed ability.

A shield of luminescent two fold attendance and the ethereal sanctity

Of spiritual presence. A vow exchanged and the blossom of

Balanced blossoms in expectation of god rearranged. Spoken in the throe of

A precious wish, the mystery of sacred speech and unhesitating exhalation,

“Belie the shadow realm

And guide the sacred helm!”

The witches final exhortation as unfurled savannahs and sylvan paths

Align to the discretion of secret pearls and the sashes of destiny. To honor the special substance of alchemy and unbidden quests for the breadth of straw dogs and calamitous curtseying dragons in white, the adventure begins at the even-tide and the frayed seam of night.

*******

Plenteous and fulfilled in the trail of unbidden tears, a moonbeam and

Salubrious star allaying brave fears. The sacrosanct silent, pregnant prayer

To heavens and twilight wine, signifying the journey and thrust of time.

Thrashing thresholds along the path of tiers and stone already parched and

Feigning a desire for home. Ripples of wind and owls in vociferating

Vocation of wondering wisdom, the bleat of distant sheep and wolves howling winsome with worry for the hunt and incensed by the scent of a human, drizzling saliva and a famished grunt. Straight imbued with the direction of stitches in a long seam, he continues northward forever it seems.

Drowsy, overwhelmed by the victory of a night he collapses tatter Malian still seen in mist by demons in flight. Phantasms and portends of mythical call fill his conscious almost all, the brood of broadened ash and sunshine

Arrays of risen abeyance in possession of magical conveyance and curious

Enveloping crimson ascent in the hold of god’s consent.

*******

The morning dew and emboldened moted sunshine flittering against his pale skin as sleeping in hours times four and flourishing angels in glowing luminescence like sentinels akin. Dreams of Eden and patient cadence benevolently drawn in the truelove trifles of countenances passing, the winded wetlands of moss and lichen hue surpassing the charcoal tattered, gangly shadow of powers amassing. The corruptible morass proceeding a time to come, the journey irrefutably undone, by an unlearned question of wandering sum. Why is it you and why am I not the one? Evil shrieks of death and damp cattail fluff. He sleeps and discovers that the love of an angel

Belies the wish of a demon, The angel sings.

“You were simply dreaming.”

Balanced and alive aware of the quested blessing yet to arrive, Elements of delight in the conquest of spite.

*******

Chapter One Part 2

Intact, harbored in delicate folded safety and asylum he exhales,

Suspires and breaths the byway of hammock wreaths. Paths of glory and firmament above a journey of winter love. In defense, to the harbingers of sorrow and the eyes of darkness, his course caresses the saffron blooms

Of haloed guidance and the ramble of pilgrim rag tag abandon, “Onward North!” he cries to the blanket of warmth and the southern skies.

Sunbeam brilliance lights the way as he meanders through another day. Honeycomb delight and the sweet nectar of god along with the hungry

Abeyance of demons he is destined to trod. Mossy Lilly pad frogs and white

Stag infinity are companion in stride, relevant realms of phantasm

And spectral effulgence no longer hide. In conscious definition of

Suspended belief he finds little refuge or relief.

The shadow of malevolent wrath is found in the egress of swampy defiled,

Beguiled touches of earth. Chasing the brilliant rapture

Of dancing white light he finds the will and the remains of angel aspirations

Embody the fight and a moment of pronounced abolition in the face of inhuman sedition. A wraith of delinquent play practiced in glowering contempt,

“From my anger this human will not be exempt!” Unique, strange and faithful to the wary valor and promise of the quest, in necessary requiem

To a world without sin and the vary transcendent win he knows the sanctity and power of love is without rest. Servants of intended revolt and enticing creed waver in shimmering chagrin, expecting the swale and whim of a hero in disarray and feigned courageous endeavor, “In twines of slavery you will spin!” the wraith exhorts as it begins. Relevant buckwheat realms of visionary egress and the protection of prayers in strong echos of Sheppard

Testimony resound in warm exhalations of misty rain.

“Our father who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.”

“Stop, cease, halt!” in hurtling screams and anguished alarm a wraith in impossible wrenching clawing confusions of one disarmed. Embraces accepted in veiled mist the spectral demon resigns to the bog of marsh and charcoal sentence, moss and vapory penitence. Animated vigor and the

Balance of benedictions spent on the ethereal gasp of passage lent to the will of god and the courses of sacred quest near the grasslands he shall rest.

A journey to conflict and the peace of grace adorned in the fashion of a myth

Overflowing with truth and summons to say, “I’ll be on my way!”

*******

Tramp roses and ragweed sprigs vehement and tender souled in northward

Gleam, the love of chartered butterfly wings and sighs of sweet smelling

Pine needle sap in the melody of stitched seams. Sunshine bugs and gnarled roots in the manger of dried leaves and fluttering silken cocoons. Straggly, scraggly irresistible beds of wavering grass, the exit of byways in demeanor of swampy morass. Immigrant feasts of dried fruit and capricious fermented wine, the benediction of enveloping airs and dreaming time.

Fastened by transit and the need to rest, horseback lanes and the twilight reins

Of sleeping saints and pleasing confessions of nightmare repose are best kept in the wont of a nighttime rose.

*******

The transmigration of souls in the grasslands of ceremonious fanciful presence and the way of plenty. Supposed in mists of beguiling, rollicking

Memories yet born, the kingdom of unlearned possession and dire obsessions with the veil shorn and truly adorned unto the vesture of a valley in wheat confederate and replete. The shuddering mass of those in northward grass and the fear of leopards in wait, he hears the rumble of thunder detonating with brutal warning. From ambling broad clouds and the phantasm of forces swarming. The flittering evanescent passage of deeply carefree shadows

And showers of daisy petal rain, detours of savage rite in the morning tide and day sojourns tumbling unto pain. Footfalls and ethereal angels in synchronous flight with the ebony cloak of a warm summer night.

He dreams a dream of rainbows and the city of brilliant sinless

Abandon. The nascent growth of a holy seedling tall in girth and concealed berth. The sudden swelling of souls in supplicating sumptuous earth. The wings of a dove and virgin splendid abbeys treasured in misty smoke

And reflections of miracle mazy mirth, the flames of the mantles rare scarlet hearth. Faithful breath and whispering alive the sweet blossom of prophecy will survive. In taunt fur and bristling growls the fangs of the shaman leopard will bawl.

“The grasslands will be the place of your fall, for here we be powerful some of us all!” The leopard grins in toothy glee he knows the man will see. The spectral warning fades to dust, onward north he must.

*******

Chapter One Part Three

Nursling skies of generous promise and resolute bodies

In incomparable conditions. Flourishing, sublime grass and opinions of contrite rendition. The cloudless firmament fulfilling the prophecy of relations in light and the bastion of earth and heaven, venturing an endless night. Burdens of ancient divinity and fathers of substance in precedented

Fulfillment and secret journeys, he accepts the provisions vaunted by the

Carefree sunshine spirit and yearnings, venturing terrains of contemplation

The shaman leopard is close to the source, cat-paw stealth and desires of adoring, hungry flesh, he pronounces the design of a hastened mesh.

Broods of blood and patchwork invitations to secret effect, divergent eruptions of gather stride, the seeker shamming interjects. Our cleaver forefathers fulfillment in clothed graceful greeting, proposed, innate and junctures of escape. Leopard contention and slothful repose accorded and supposed, descried by battle he guards the crossroads to paths of repute, a leopard in grasp and gape clawing from the center of eternity and a grassy maw, surrounded by the twilight horizon and all, in confident belief he sways and chants an armored relief, leopard speed and the sanguine need enduring the harrowed grain and the wrath of a distant rain , the end of tolls

And tenuous flooded play. The man shouts in exhausted prairie fray, “To the lord above the wings of a dove and the ruin of ruptured rifts, send this beast a sleepy cascading gift!”

Rearranged by reason the skies answer his prayer out of the holy season,

Rainstorms of scarlet and amber hue the leopard receives his purposeful

Due. Reserves of radical liquid abandon and prairie wind deepened in defiance and deceitful reliance, the shaman leopard attempts

To rescind the scarlet curtain of interrupted sin.

“Dire-damn and fire-damn, bulwark of dried grass

Deter this shower before your servant fall to cower in the

Mans morass.” Forestalled excluded by the labor of a man

And the angel in god’s nature and drenching embrace,

The leopard roars in his place.

“Edges of mountain and ledges of fountains be your fate, conditions of hell where you’ll be late!” He looks to the distant coasts and the hilly host of land in the lord, he has shorn the will of the leopard with sanctity

And more. The leopard collapses in a baptismal heap, for now he will remain asleep. Hordes of sleeping beasts, the immortal quest lay before the feast of pathways and byways in issued belief, the symbol of comforting relief. A luring religion and notched jagged luminescence in sovereignty and

The expanse of god’s presence, the way of the sun and the lay of the journey

He travels onward, done to seed and the dire need of an angel in pass and the one to the last. The eventide horizon and glowing waves of light, laid bare and in assembled tramp sojourn he sees the testimony in flight, vowing by adoration and supplication to the eternal fight, a beseeching voyage of purity, the vista of a sinless realm and the guidance of a sacred helm.

Seas of grass and skies of glass the secret of footfalls in fertile earth

And the ever present cure of tender mirth, an affected rebirth, wide and long he swaggers in song,

“ Declarations of love

And the lord above

The tendrilled kiss

Of a maiden in bliss

Resounding in symphonies of glee,

This endless swaying sea.”

*******

Refined in rumbles and tumbles of sage rugged seed, his eyes practice the test of an ornamented need, to loyal winds and the fall of speed, unto anointed flesh and the oasis at the evening-tide wine by the gentle currents of palm and tempered rest, the drink, the thirst of a flowing dream in ribbons and worlds yet unseen. Abilities of light and the way of second sight

In pleasures of perception and promising parcel….the liquid sorrow, the rippled pool of rain beckoning tomorrow in sated overflowing celebration
in whispers of possession and wild obsession . Citadels of sanctity

And balanced conceived of corrals in reflective shadow in the refuse of certain hopeless vows, of tended tendrils in craving unabiding thirst the oasis calls unto the wont of the man in the first. The guardian angel provides and by this thought he abides.

To be continued in Part Four………

　

Chapter 1 Part Four

Enchanted reflections of tinctured glass, hollow, brimming

,sleek, inflicted double twofold times three, the slaked surprise

Of patent finished glares in the face of an azure sea. He dips his palm

In visiting whispers of sated seesaw wonder and calm, into the mirror a fashion of curse and sometimes somber speaks aloud,

Tis your mind they seek to cloud.”

He clenches his fist and stirs the puddle remains of appellant fancy

And the devil’s rain. Answered, in succored reason he knows the season

Of revelation and angels whirling in birthright light, probable, profitable he amends the fight. Adventure and advance he pays the pool

A curious glance. Bottomless and dry mindless squandered an unfulfilled

Lie. He greets the meandering purpose of carefree skies

And the eyes of a cautious rescue in mid-evening-tide, the spirits of saints

Abide the relationship and the quest he states aspiring without rest.

“I must continue rounding west.” In secret eternity mountains loom,

Contrite reserves of contented contemplation, careful in prayers and awareness of the moon, drawn close and in eventide azure

Glow the twilight approaches the beholden row.

A sprig, a branch, rooted pine bough berths, he finds

Asylum with gentle mirth.

A bed of pine needle wise, in the midst and alive.

A raving natural ceremony in careful cardinal darkness deep,

Spells of bonded congruity with,

“Now I lay me down to sleep.”

He lapses to return in beguiled nod to the realm of phantasms

And dreaming footfalls trod,

Along paths of trinity and tromping infinity, a colloquy with the

Forgiving day and a fight with the shadow tattered silhouettes

Of ebony night.

Dreams of hills and bristling fur he discovers an alliance with a cur.

A barking wind and a howling enchantment in the bosom of god,

He rescinds the dry abandon of deserts ahead finding the heart of benevolent

Divinity instead.

Cunning, curdled flasks of wine sleeping in ambrosia and jabber

Palaver with the beasts that dine, on the aspirations

And fears of a bridled human venturing near.

The curvaceous, vivacious maiden in goats-head herds in those before

Their screams never heard, tended and shorn as if they had never been born.

She approaches in cloven hoof veil and to his avail

The misty rain of slumber and meadows of infinite pain,

Call and push the warning decree,

“In search of place, person thing, measure our fate before you begin!”

Her shadow touches a rent in the dreaming crystalline caste

Of sleeping fast.

“Agile, aghast a spectral past let our advice be your mast!”

He commands the ballast from deep within, he hazards happenchance

\to avail the city without sin as he measures his dreams and the veil of sleep,

The breath of life in yielded keep. Ghostly cadence and moments of

Bearing in optimal arrival, the miracle of his survival in realms of slumber

And established divided earth, the sanctity of god’s hearth burns with a fervid glow. In the bosom of cradled cause and sleeping pause he will grow.

Paradise and the possibility of accidental disposal, tempted

By the cycle of August snow, he prepares in sleeps

evanescent grasp for the earthen eligible invention of gasps

And groans, laughter and moans. Culminating in a moment seen by the revolution he seems to seek in the twilight quest he finds the glory of burning

Ashen flames and begins to feign the seizure of ancestral magic

As she returns her influence to the tragic beasts of enchanted

Precedence and mead owed malady bare,

The blasphemous sacrilege might not be there.

A portent, a ghostly echo of wrinkled supposition, withholding repetition,

Sanctity scolding the repentant snow and the ice of a crystalline

Faith in the absolution of lathes lamenting lashes of turn

And the embers that burn with elemental fury,

For the present he finds the conscious mind

To amend and defend paths and dirt track, a phantasm, a

Blundering wreck. Today he will ascend the foothills of the sorcerers glen.

******

Chapter 2 Part 1

(August snow and the Downy Jasmine Correspondence)

Careful ascension in deserved skill and untried rigor, he favors destiny with beginnings and bonded vigor. A surreptitious consent

To the generous ardor of arcane apportion and

Gangling preternatural shadows of entourage design, shrewd beggar

Silhouettes lengthened by twine.

The surety of enduring defense and symmetrical wiles

Of paths that beguile

The mountains and the nurtured knowledge of heeded savannahs past,

Ethereal August elements and wonder in steep foothills

At last.

The essence of sweet prospering showers, unspoiled rapture in daisy petal pastures of whispering notion and gallant potions captivated

Undue. Echoes of sworn tireless expectation

True, prevailing and direct the thunder of a divided sect, covered

In crawling vines daises behind, he traverses the makeshift carpet

Of wallowing times.

Weighted and in smidgeons of equal lines he plods into the efflorescent

Minds of ancient brood,

Modestly disparaging his passionate mood.

The cruelty of seizure and confusing dispersal,

The baron conflict of reversal. A tattered robust vesture

And the sanctity of his gesture. In a genuflected plea he finds innate innocence

And the immersion of spirits near the curative absolutes

Of souls that see, the wash of backwards rough and

Enchanted ambiguous chafe contributing enough drooling drizzle

And professed facade in the deterioration of a transmogrified nod,

From the sands of time and the estranged kindred beast

Reckoned, glimpsed in indelible feasts of fury and angry measure,

“To devour your soul, my secret pleasure! The hollow, sallow, chewing, chewing and charmed, snitches, snits and the grit of your bones I will

Farm!” He gasps and rasps as moss and dirt become blood and bone,

He screams to the path ahead,

“North, South, East and West by god with your angels I will

Tread.”

A growl a howl and jaw full of his resolve will provide the means and master. He will survive and in the bosom of guardian guides closely affected by his side he will thrive.

The belief and vaunt of a cur in care the pedigree bristle

Of a swear and an exclamation of devoted array, the accompanying earthen spirit of companion fray.