Blessing of a Young Traveler
By: Tylan Posted on: December 05, 2006
-This poem is dedicated to friends in my wonderful city of Cyrene, and to a certain someone who resides inside me always.
Around the desert carefully I tread,
And o'er tow'ring Vashnars slowly climb.
Betwixt the Granite Hills I find my way,
And under into burrows deep I dive.
I tiptoe round dark Mhaldor on my quest,
And skim the ripples o'er Vundamere.
Through hills Dakhota solemnly I prowl,
And down to Azdun dark a wand'rer winds.
Lord Vastar's gale!
Lord Twilight's veil!
A storm, a blizzard, baleful gusts of frost
Are my companions as I venture forth.
As darkness swallows Sapience by night,
Black pain and suff'ring permeate my dreams.
Yet Lady Mithraea shows her face again,
her rosy cheeks doth bathe me in their warmth.
Ourania's tears wash over me anew
and ready me to further probe the land.
But through Melantha's subtle moods and turns,
and through Lord Aeon's unrelenting march,
through Lady Tarah's touch and warm embrace,
and through Lord Thoth's dark grasp, the end of souls,
A smile doth beckon me, an eye doth gleam
with amber flecks of gold that swim so free,
a laugh doth wash the pain away, a song
of trilling melody resides in me.
Until Cyrene surrounds me once again,
until the warmth of hearth and home return,
I wander foreign lands, my feet doth pad
along with purpose in my aching heart.
And so I pen this humble ode tonight,
with alien soil underneath my back.
To all I sorely miss and dearly love,
A weary trav'ler sends his blessings true.