All wise men fear water.
They fear drowning, in too deep
they fear rain dripping steadily onto the street
they always carry umbrellas and
they never look at seas.

When I was young, I saw a river
Due to drought, it was growing thinner.
Stones were like gems inside it and
the fish were just like silver.

The water was streaming onward fast
not a hard-smooth mirror or a sheet of glass.
I reached my hand into it and
I felt it rushing past.

A dark city
Where a stream of dreams
Have come passing through
To give you the dream of the gulls
And the heartbeat of the waves

No song is murmured here
Nor dream stayed and lingered
There is a wind which carries them away
Like the wings of a raven

Your thoughts are not spoken
And silence leaves you wondering
Wondering of a boat and an oar
All of timber and strings

He was never late, ever. Every Saturday at precisely two o’clock we met without fail. But today, on the very day that I needed him, he was sixteen minutes late. Sixteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds to be exact.

I slumped a little in the booth, then straightened and began typing in a nearly empty document.

Twenty-three year-old Tiana Black waited patiently—

I hit the backspace button, deleting the last word.

**A poem of two perspectives. It was written while I thought about the two main characters of my (other) novel. Aida's people are a race descended from Dryads, and... well, I hate to give the plot away, so glean what you will from the poem.**

Wild and frantic
The beating of his heart
As he clung to the horse's mane
And held on for dear life

The trees flew past
They ran swifter than eagles
An elven horse
With a hobbit on it's back

A slash of black
Amidst the colors of the trees
A stab of pain
In an ancient wound

How many days?
It seems like forever
The cold bite of steel -
No, no.

Harsh and shrieking
Their calls behind him
Almost drowned out
In the screaming of the wind

The world was small,
the woods were deep,
the stag with a cross
did run and leap
his antlers twining, like the trees
their branches winding
in the breeze
The cave was dark,
the stars were bright
stories written in them
poems and songs they used to sing
before the wind did take them
The seas were great,
the fires blazing
the warriors ran,
their torches raising
with spears and bows, and swords to pierce
silver dripping, shining
eyes so fierce