An Ancient Digression

Long silent bus rides can be good times to reflect….or not.


The mirrors of the ancients set the legendary sky ablaze.

Their quill traced the heavens, their compass revealed the earth and parceled their souls into chests of midnight fire.

The bear, the ram, the hunter, the hare, each foretold their fates.

Delicate frescos detailed all that had been, celestial filigree showed all that would be.

A star for life, a star for love, one for fury, one for fool, one for you and one for me.

Each star told a story, each star held a key.

Rising and falling, flaring and fading as the seasons turned and turned.

The ancients are long dead now, all I have are half-cast charts stolen from dark visions, smuggled through waking dreams.

I scrawl imperfect wisdom until the need is past, I am both quill and compass, bear and ram, hunter and hare, fury and fool. Perhaps I am both you and me.

I have no more chests of midnight fire, each has been traded away and lost. Yet I need no art to know my past, I need no craft to see my future.

I need no stars to feel the dance in my bones, to taste the bitter dust of summer, hear the trilling song of spring.

We each tell a story, we each hold a key.

Rise and fall, flare and fade…as the seasons turn and turn.


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