Arcana Compromised, Poetry by Aneza Lee

Genre: Philosophical

Arcana Compromised
by Aneza Lee

Crude scribbler of base words, crude bearer of rusted swords, smite me with a mighty blow, yet think of all the things ye’d want to know before my last breath expires. Secrets grand that lay beyond death’s gate, secrets made of death and hate, lust and fate, emptiness and the sins of the great.

Paint me a song, with artist’s brush and writer’s quill, paint it with light and shadow, if ye will. Inspiration is a slavish devotion, it cares not for appearances, it will sip from thy soul, it will sup from thy spirit and leave thee sated with it.

Drink now from the chalice that is me, speak now thy own thoughts as from the heart they do rise, like stars in velvety night skies. Inspiration, a favoured lover, a new light to discover, like a vast landscape painted in hues of love and devotion, draped upon the mind’s eye like silver upon the ocean.

From the dust I shall rise, a creature but a moment away from a certain demise, look but closely and ye’ll see the truth in my eyes. Secrets locked dark and deep, secrets not whispered, even in the velvety realm of sleep. Smite me now and they shall fade away, never to see the light of another dawning day.

Crude scribbler, rude warrior, thief of treasure beyond truth’s measure, steal the essence of me and it is only blackness that ye will see. A beating heart, a soul that sings of glory and the rediscovery of ancient things. Archaic tale, forgotten vale, dance of stars across night’s veil, these things will be lost to thee, if ye choose to smite me.

Thrust aside thy crude sword, swallow thy knavish words and let me be. I am not a creature of this world, though it does not make me immune to thy sword. I may still bleed at the touch of steel, I am not of here, but still, I am quite real. I am as a songbird that to the moon her sweet song sings, a teller of ancient tales that to ancient truths bear subtle answering.

I beg of thee, do not steal the essence that is me. Crude scribbler, rude warrior, thief of sacred things that once stolen may never be returned, spirit lost upon a foul wind, nothing by this act is gained! Leave me be, I’ll not challenge thee, I wish only to be free of thy malice and fear, a spirit that to the moon her song sings, a creature not of here, but a creature that no longer feels thy fear.

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