At the age of sixteen, Anita stayed with her aunt and uncle the day before Easter luncheon to help scour down the house before the rest of the family arrived. After half a day of housework, her cousin grabbed her shoulders and asked her to please stop singing or I’ll start calling you Princess again.
This started out as a submission for Mary's contest (http://enterthewriterslair.blogspot.com/2011/12/announcing-first-ever-writers-lair.html), but it was too long. It’s a Christmas story, as you can’t tell from the title, but it’s also a lot of other things. So…onwards and upwards.
*
One of Three
Anita’s exasperated cousin once asked, “You think life’s a soundtrack, don’t you?”
**These are shorter poems with no relation to each other whatsoever.... I guess this is kind of like Anna's Nonsense Poets, but I'm not planning on making more of these....**
More than the sum of our thoughts
is our parallel December,
moving like a swordfish
under such inclement weather
We are but lonely beings when the wind comes,
to give us feathers
Less than the sum of a soul
is our parallel December,
cradled like an acorn
in such a deep and dark forever
We are but children sleeping when the wind comes,
to say, remember
More than the sum of our coins
is our parallel December,
crouching like a lioness
a tawny, starving mother
Something held her at the topmost stair,
another hand beside her own
and the ghostly wind through the night pulsed soft,
Was it music or did it moan?
She was drawn out toward the night
like a moth drawn to the light
To fly into the candle,
to fly into the flame,
is to be more than courage,
is to rise above shame
And the ellum awoke and shook themselves
and they wept for something that only they felt
And she nearly stepped out into the star-swirling dark
*This little ditty is quite short (I thought of only one verse, alas) and VERY random.... Yet also very true, sadly. :)*
I'm a procrastinator,
I need a savior
I can't control this behavior
You say do it now,
I say it'll wait until later
I am a procrastinator!
This is a song I wrote for some of my books, the Guardian Sagas. Arasi was a sword forged by Teren Tebre Swordforger at the command of Naran Ara (my God figure). The sword was named Arasi because in Diresth (Teren's country) the word arasi means 'hope'. Arasi was forged as the only weapon that could stand up to a mace forged by a wizard and bound with spells so that every other weapon that touched it would break. Throughout the last age of the world Arasi, the Sword of Hope, was born by men called the Guardians of Arasi.
Hear the hammer hammering
