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The roses and ravens within every soul
leave all thoughts forgotten, and give you your role
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The forgotten dream of being a poet was never lost within the heiress. To read and write in solitude. To find the peace from the never-ending conflict. She enjoyed the silence.
Encouraged by her friend Ser Adrian Pandion, Helara of Clan Umeneri has begun sharing some of the work that was kept hidden in her journal since arriving at the Spire. More and more people have become privy to the inner thoughts and feelings of the warrior. The words left unspoken.
The collection continues to grow.
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Untitled
She knows she's not awaited
wherever she is found.
At times as a fair maiden's song
or foreign as a hound.
Perhaps her price is paid in health
or plague, or by fate's bounds,
or misery of aging,
or wars on bloodied ground.
We move with her to save ourselves,
through towns bereft of sound,
a single ghostly retinue,
a gray and hollow crowd,
Where we're awaited patiently
not by a hearth nor crown,
but by the windswept wastes beyond
where melancholy's found.
And so on northern riverbanks,
along the crooked roads,
beyond the swamps of days long past,
where silver cliffs doth grow,
through windbreaks over withered grass,
whose dew laments an ode,
upon untrodden fields we pass,
dried foliage below.
Though lights have long since dimmed to ash,
and we are from home,
our leaden feet leave trails, alas,
on freshly laden snow.
Yet we have gone and long surpassed
the world that we have known,
for we all say farewell at last
when Death takes what she's owed.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Blood-River
Will you look to me, Blood-River, nigh?
See my wings have been mended.
How I flew to a far foreign sky,
your streams do not remember.
Now my body is ichor and strife,
and my veins have been tempered.
Yet your tears are still water of life,
and our ties can't be ended.
I will soar like the falcons with haste,
closer still to the heavens.
I will tread past the woods and the lakes,
to the fields where I've not been.
I will leave shadows there in my wake,
when the silver clouds darken.
I will cast off my shame and my hate,
As my spirit is leavened.
How am I to return and achieve
what you wanted, Blood-River?
Now the roads back are shrouded and cleaved;
they are lost to the aether.
All those summers and autumns deceived,
with their strange, bitter weather.
While the ice is still thin I must leave,
and forget you forever.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Saviour
Raze
The village
The order is given
The words of a madman
The chaos of war
Gaze
Upon them
The things that were taken
The people now broken
in rubble and gore
Rays
Of sunlight
Will break through the darkness
Will crack through the silence
Sweep ash from the floor
Blaze
Anew then
The strings sing your praises
The moon slowly rises
It's lonely no more
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The Jackal and the Prince
At early dawn, the hungry jackal sits atop the hill.
He looks below, where a grim retinue begins to spill.
Today is a dark day - the Lord of all the World is dead.
Both young and old cannot withhold their tears and mounting dread.
He was a kindly ruler, he was the Sun and Moon.
His empire now remains a widow left alone.
He will be buried in a nephrite coffin in the steppe.
A place so far away, where only beasts like jackals crept.
A thousand horses' hooves will trample out the paths and roads,
so weeping wanderers will not disturb his rest with woes.
The jackal rasps a cry, of blood ties with the king.
The same old fangs and greed, because they are but kin:
"It is all a lie, that he was the most noble lord.
It is all a lie, for he ruled with fire and sword.
It is all a lie, I'm your king and you'll do as I say.
Men with power become beasts at the end of the day.
It is all a lie."
The jackal is then cursed by shamans, hierophants, and priests.
A rider gallops forth to pierce with spear the traitor-beast.
None have the right to cast a sacred king down from the heavens.
No less, an animal resigned to scavenging the barrens.
But then a laugh is heard - the Prince, son of the king.
The same old fangs and greed, because they are but kin.
It is all a lie, that he'll be the most noble lord.
It is all a lie, for he'll rule with fire and sword.
It is all a lie, he's your king and you'll do as he'll say.
Men with power become beasts at end of the day.
It is all a lie.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Roses and Ravens
Roses and ravens,
sunlight and dust.
It seems, all in all,
Fate's dealing is just.
Time halts for no man,
and conscience is gone.
For some there are coffins,
while others meet dawn.
The roses and ravens
within every soul
leave all thoughts forgotten
and give you your role.
And when all is lost then,
both honour and pride,
just hope your last prayer
will not be denied.
Roses and ravens, roses and ravens.
Roses and ravens, both day and night.
Roses and ravens, roses and ravens,
Roses and ravens - in my heart they fight.
To fly or to crawl.
To burn or to rot.
There is no more time left,
yet more must be bought.
There is no choice given,
yet one must be made.
For some there are coffins,
for others - the blade.
All of our angels
know each of our times.
And so they will fly down
and punish our crimes.
The heart may be saddened
as grief overflows,
but know it was willed
by both raven and rose.
Roses and ravens, roses and ravens.
Roses and ravens, both day and night.
Roses and ravens, roses and ravens,
Roses and ravens - in my heart take flight.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Leaves
A leaf falling from a tree,
in the autumn light it gleams.
With no family it dances
like an artist, it is free.
A leaf falling from a tree.
It's alone for all the world,
and its wings are now unfurled.
It grows drunk from all this freedom,
as towards the ground it whirls.
It's alone for all the world.
If the leaves could only know
to enjoy their dance quite slow,
after which they will be lying
in the mud and dirt below.
If the leaves could only know.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
The Moon Over the Ruined Castle - Umeneri Translation
Cherry blossoms over fields under ruined walls.
Cups of sake passed around in that castle's halls.
Moonlight shone upon the cups, through the great pine sprawls.
Where is that old moonlight now?
Encampment in autumn night, covered in white frost.
Geese were crying in the sky as they flew across.
Moonlight shone upon those swords, on the ground left tossed.
Where is that old moonlight now?
Now at midnight see the moon, rising in the sky.
For whom does it shine once more, as in times gone by?
On that ruined rampart high, ivy grows and winds.
There is that old moonlight now.
Moon and stars hang in the sky, they are prearranged.
But in mortal life below, rise and fall are staged.
Does the moon know as it hangs, does it watch the change?
There is that old moonlight now.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
I am
I am a tool, I am a blade.
Of jagged metal I am made.
My foes and friends should be afraid,
because with blood my price is paid.
A blade knows only how to take,
leave misery there in its wake;
and when at last it's set to break
It's cast into a gore-filled lake.
No more excuses, no more stains.
No more unwanted, wretched pain.
The stars have willed that I am bane,
And so I'll be till I am slain.
I am aware that such is fate.
I am deserving of your hate.
But soon the blade, too, will ablate.
And I am left only to wait.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Calm
Calm, and our ship is adrift.
The wind, it fell silent today.
Calm, and the sails will not lift.
Alone, all we do now is pray.
Names and faces gone,
We've forsaken all.
With the coming dawn,
Our salvation stalled.
Calm, now the madness will spread.
The heat, smells of salty black tar.
Soon, one of us will be dead.
And we, we will show who we are.
For his flesh and blood
will do well to sate,
And perhaps some god
Will reward his fate.
What awaits? The scorching sea keeps quiet.
Thirst to live drowns out all other wants.
Only here, life's worth is very pliant.
Others' lives, but not your own.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Defiance of the Spire
A beacon called the Spire rises.
It calls out to both man and beast.
From Albern's Crossing, it apprises,
To mighty Amafells out East.
There were those that were here before us.
Now, but a monument remains.
That is the secret of these forests:
Nothing is lasting, all must change.
This promise of new life and welfare,
Away from burdens of the past,
Brings many of us here from elsewhere,
Working together, peace at last.
And yet, fell whispers break the silence.
Through fabrications, honeyed words,
Some seek to force us to compliance;
Be warned, your slander has been heard.
What makes you think we are unsteady?
What makes you think we are alone?
With hands on weapons at the ready,
We see the chaos you have sown.
Our boots may be well-worn and muddied,
For we have travelled from afar,
But we fear not to leave them bloodied,
Nor do we hide our many scars.
If you care not for peace and order,
Make your intentions loud and clear.
Your words will find scarce few supporters,
You have no means to cause us fear.
Then, you may circle us like vultures.
But, just so everything is set,
The town here has a certain culture,
Response in kind for every threat:
One fact that zealots should remember —
Your faith in dreams requires sleep.
We do not care for such surrender,
So all your vessels — you can keep.
But should your ivy grow and blight us,
And all your lamps still shine like pests,
Remain assured, the Spire obliges —
You'll dream forever in your rest.
The offer stands as well to bandits,
Who crawl out from their fetid swamps.
You're bold of tongue, you propagandists,
With little else behind your pomp.
So take your cursed coins and intrigue,
That sickness that you wish to spread,
And spend your efforts in your own league.
Sort out your own house, as is said.
As for the courtiers and the claimants —
You should return beyond the Wall.
Conscience is not worth all your payments,
And soon your kingdoms, too, will fall.
If you want subjects, you have plenty.
If you want land, go fight your wars.
Folk in the Reach can be quite friendly,
but they are free; they are not yours.
Yet if you bring the Valkian spear-tip,
If you know not our way of steel,
If you would self-appoint a lordship,
If you would still demand we kneel,
Then send your numbers without number,
Your errant knights, your goaded slaves,
The Reach's fields have room to slumber —
And they'll know well their brethren's graves.
Know this: Such is the Spire's defiance.
Best do away with your charades.
We do not spurn trusted alliance,
But sword-bringers die by their blades.
And as they rot in earthy wreckage,
Their bones in coffins well-arranged,
One epitaph will be their message:
Nothing is lasting, all must change.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
On the Frontier (Ode to Clan Laolieri)
The bank is a cliff but we are not deterred.
Beneath the dark mists, the river is heard.
Yonder, the foreigner-land is observed.
The Sacred Peace will still not be disturbed.
With falcon-like vigil, we watch the frontier.
With talons of cruelty, their souls will be sheared.
With beaks forged of iron, with blades and with spears,
With smoldering arrows, death always walks near.
Within narrow gorges, across the wide plains,
To serve on the borders of Uul'san domains.
Where only the raven-black steed in your reins
and comrades beside you will share in your pains.
The weapons are tempered, our grip is composed;
The northern and western cordons are closed.
Strike first without fear against those opposed.
Preserve this periphery, or meet our repose.
The treacherous foe crosses through the steep pass.
Their Adarkhin swordwork will shatter like glass.
The shore will grow corpses in withering grass,
And names will be lost, tossed aside on these paths.
With beastly ferocity, we hold the frontier.
With claws that grip throats of the foe cavaliers,
With grave, mortal wounds, without any fear,
With a reckoning arrow, our ruin is here.
Let it be so that we die in this land.
Our honour will know we fulfilled its demands.
No flinching, no breaking, we fall where we stand.
Only one meets the dawn with sword held in hand.
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Flame
Everything is pain, the wise ones often say
And likewise every flame will burn out some day
The wind will scatter ashes,
Leaving not a trace.
But while it still burns, and for its warmth we yearn,
There is naught to mourn and one must strive to learn
To keep it in tough times,
When the cold returns.
Since the night is long, we dread when flame is gone.
Its heat must keep us strong so wasting wood is wrong.
Best to keep to yourself
To meet the coming dawn.
But it happens sometimes that an eccentric arrives,
And this stranger, unwise, will bring their flame to rise,
With all of their spare firewood,
High up into the skies.
The wise ones look beyond, and say this act is flawed.
The fire causes awe, and burns out in an hour odd.
But in that single hour
Every other heart is thawed.
Not everything is fated, not everything is stated.
The colours of the day are far from having faded.
No reason to spare flame —
Its warmth will not be wasted.
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Moth
Silly little moth
Burning on a candle
Flame is much too hot
For the wings to handle
Stars will fall in sorrow
On the weathered porch
Moth meets no tomorrow
If it seeks the torch.
Lamp light gives no heat
Wood is softly creaking
Spear to rend through meat
Wife will be left weeping
Pen can break the sword
Rose will have to wither
Temple to a word
Are the dreamers listeners?
Soldiers are not born
Soldiers are the dying
Moths are not forlorn
Moths can still be flying
Nature gave cruel love
Pain is their desire
Soar from high above
To perish in the fire.
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The Dead
The dead do not smoulder, do not burn
They do not grow older, do not learn
The dead do not moulder, do not rot
They do not know cold, and do not plot
The dead do not sow, nor do they reap
They do not fall slower, do not weep
They do not sink lower, nor regret
They do not remember, nor forget.
The dead will not argue, will not want
They will never hate you, will not flaunt
The dead will not charm you, will not sing
They will never praise you, will not cling
The dead will not fail you, will not sweat
They will not be saviours, nor take debts
The dead will never waver, nor persist
They will not ask favours, nor assist.
The dead are not breathing, are not wise
They are not deceiving, are not spies
The dead are not sleeping, nor awake
They are not believed in, are not fake
The dead are never leaving, never here
They are not left grieving, are not feared
They are not forgiving, with no thoughts
They are not the living, they cannot.
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