Dark-Adapted Eyes

Thought and Memory, we are both one and two.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Ravens 011

born we crashed through shell
and found our feet
clawed our way through hell

young we thought it neat
discovered wings
learned to wait for meat

learnt the hidden things
saw woman fall
make a line of kings

watched the master call
and heard him tell
the story of it all

and now we know the lore
of why each egg is sealed and still
the angels pause before
the newborn life has found free will


Thursday, March 02, 2006

Flight

Huginn: How do we fly? Is it enough that our bones are shadow and our feathers night? Is it that we must have nerves of flame and a winter's mind?

Muninn: My love, we never had those things. We were born of chaos and old night, but it was He with all his devious planning who wrought us, and lamb, and tiger, and archangel and all. And we are all one stuff, in three essences.

H: Did He who make the Lamb make thee? Why do we question? Why do we think? Why do you remember?

M: Three essences, one stuff. You are uncommonly jumpy tonight; you have seldom been like this.

H: We must take flight. We have been earthbound too long. I am asking mortal questions.

M: You're right. Mortal indeed! But who is the question, I wonder?


Wednesday, March 01, 2006

St David's Day

Huginn: They had many kings. A whole long line, dynasties where He would have none, signs of man's power where they should have none. It's the second one that comes to mind.

Muninn: I remember him. There wasn't a carnivore he wouldn't sling a stone at. The sheep were always afraid he'd hit one of them instead. And cautious, conniving. Would never pack a single shot when he could have a six-pack.

H: He was a wizard with engineering. Manipulation. Forces, tension, energy. Ballistics.

M: That's how he finally won his throne. Killed a giant (what could have stopped his stone?), dodged a spear (only he would have looked for its angle of flight!) and went around making himself popular. Wrote a lot of poetry too, and published the political bits as scripture.

H: Thank God for editors. His son the preacher did a good hatchet job, although he left in some of the 'kill them all' pieces.

M: I will remember him most for the nasty look he gave me as he slung a rock in my direction just before he killed the giant. That's why he had only five in hand that day.