Moments: 1999
Poems by Eden Blackthorn

A Murder of Crows
Business Trip Haikus
Dream Stalker
Redemption
Smiles Behind the Mask
Death of a Warrior
Dreams & Duct Tape
Dreams & Duct Tape (Haiku)
Treasures
Short Hair & Hard Truths
Desperate Kisses
9 1/2 Weeks
Running...
Transformation
Millennial Mistake

A Murder of Crows
Farmer in the field, hitching up his horse.
He works hard, toiling the land that is his mistress.
A dark shadow briefly obscures the sun like the
Foreshadowing of an evil intention
And the coming of dire woes.
There, in the distance, come more.
The bane of every good farmer.
The air is filled with the cawing of the crows.

He thinks of the loss of his beautiful wife
To the ravishes of time and too many harvest seasons.
She had been everything to him until
The field called his name.
The call that made him leave her and go.
A siren song of the lonely.
Now, the sun has passed it's zenith and all that is left
Are the fields where he has planted his neat, long rows.

Funny how time forgets the bad and cherishes the good.
Memories become hazy in the wistful wants of Life.
No thoughts of the promises broken or the
Consorting with dire enemies and foes.
Whispered words, thoughtless actions, betraying deeds
All things that crush the tender flower of Trust.
All lost to a faulty memory that would rather
Think of the love than of the truth that it knows.

It has become a rote, toiling this land.
It is a possessive mistress, demanding
Constant care and attention.
Otherwise, the crops won't grow.
Working the land, protecting the crop.
It is his livelihood, it is all he has left.
He will be ever vigilant or the
Black birds will feast upon the harvest of the rows.

Just as if the crows could hear his thoughts,
They begin to peck and dig into the tender soil.
The farmer watches and then yells, waving his arms
Like an animated heartless scarecrow.
The birds pause only for the briefest of instants and
Then return to their meal. They sing to each other,
Telling each other of the feast they've found.
The harsh, distracting sound of the crows.

The farmer unhitches his horse, thinking of a way to
Defeat this pillaging hoard. He will not let them
Destory what he has worked so hard to protect.
He wants to reap what he has sown.
The cacophony of the caws has become a symphony
Of sound. He stops, thinking he hears the words.
"No. It can't be. " He thinks in surprise.
There they are again: "We know. We know. We know."

Turning back to the black mass of feathers and talons,
He will not believe his ears. Birds don't speak, much less
Know the secret of the field.
How could they have discovered the secret of his woes?
Horror grows as his mind's eye supplies the image.
An image so real in the mind that it must be true -
Of the birds digging, seeking, finding...
He gags as he sees one pecking at the unearth'd toes.

They are gone when he looks up again.
It is nothing more than malicious
Tricks of a guilty soul that has overcome Reality.
Those white fragile bones of a love and a foe.
Inwardly, he nervously laughs, thinking of how futile
His fear was, as he almost falls prey to
The wicked irony of a tale that should have be
Crafted by the Master; Edgar Allan Poe.

Whistling, he swings his arms to scare the birds.
Mindlessly, he walks across the field, disturbing
The neat rows. The mistress will take her
Punishment from the muscles in his back, he knows.
Still, he does not care. He toils for her on this day.
The dreadful anniversary of the awful deed.
He will wave the birds away, those bearers of the
Terrible Truth. Then, he will get back to the plough and hoe.

"We know. We know. We know." Whispers
Through his mind like an insidious dream.
"They will know." Joins the whispers, an insistant
Reminder of a betraying act best forgotten, Though....
He cannot forget, try as he might,
The dreadful reminder of a sensless rage that made
Him foresake his duty, his one true mistress...
When it is sung in the cawing of the crows.

He wants to forget but they will not let him. The
Sound begins to drown out all else. "We know."
How do they know? Have they seen?
All he hears is the whispering of black birds, "We know...."
The farmer sees the black demon birds kicking
Away the dirt, discovering his desperate deed.
He howls in anger and fear and reaches for the gun
That is his protection and begins to kill the crows.

Maimed birds scream their pain and defiance,
Shedding feathers and blood. They call forth the
Secret, the hidden horror of the field as the farmer
Wildly shoots each betraying foe.
"We know. We know. We Know!"
The hollow voices of the more hollow skulls.
Whisper through the terror, prophetic in their words
"One reaps what he sows!"

'NO!' he screams! and digs through the soft soil,
He must see. He must feel. He must know.
Deeper and deeper into the dark, dank dampness.
Destorying all that he has toiled to grow.
He dug until he found that which plagued him.
The fragile, brittle bones, shattered like his lost love.
Laughing, he sat back into the
Soft soil, giggling in madness throes.

They will speak of it for years to come
About the farmer found mad in the field,
Surrounded by the dead birds and white bones
Of his wife and her lover. They nod. "Yes. We know."
They all had heard the booming shots of the gun,
Shattering the silence. They came running
To see what was wrong and found more than expected.
They found the Truth with all of its woes.
And all because of, a murder of crows.

Business Trip Haikus

Day 1 - Traveling
Thirty mintues late. Waiting for the plane to come. Now we wait some more.	Sitting on the plane. Fasten seatbelts for safety. The seats are too small.
Safety card review. Woman babbles behind me. Bet she is shark bait!	Surprizingly pleasant. My dinner is not plastic. The plane food is good?
Turbulence ahead. "Fasten seatbelts" the sign blinks. I need a barf bag.	Teal Landing Lights. What do the aliens think? Hope it says "Hello."
Hurry up and wait. It is the Traveler's creed. Boy, do I hate it!	Waiting for the bus. It is so cold, see my breath? Avoid concrete bench.
Day 2 - Class
Too early for class. Twiddling thumbs - what a joy! I could have slept in.	Dull forever class. Learning what is common sense. Still, nice professor.
Day 3 - Class/Dinner
Frustration grow I do not understand it! Somebody help me!	Forever dinner. Lies fall like drops from his lips. Well, his friend is nice.
Day 4 - Travel/Home
Traveling again. I want to arrive there soon. I am homeward bound!	I am home at last. All is as it should be here. I love my own bed.

Dream Stalker
As long as you...

Are afraid of me.

Have butterflies in your stomach.

Can hear the beating of your heart.
You know you are alive.

As long as you...

Have the wind in your hair.

Feel my breath on your neck.

Can turn one more corner.
You know you are alive.

As long as you...

Have time to gasp for air.

Feel the cold concrete at your back.

Can control the trembling of your hands.
You know you are alive.

If you can just...

Evade me long enough.

Reach the safety of the light.

Wake up one more time.
You know you will survive.

Redemption
The white forest woman,
In the winter of her Eternity.
She sees the summer skies
In dreams of want.

Seeking redemption,
She fears what comes next.
Through the looking glass and beyond.
She cannot fathom the Crossing.

Is it Oblivion?
The sweet, unending darkness of the void,
Resting in the embrace of the thoughtlessness.
Is it Oblivion?
The lonely unending darkness of the void,
Resting in the embrace of ever racing thought.

Is it something more...
Or something less?
That is what she fears.
The unknowing of the Beyond.

She has lived for Eternity.
Now that Eternity is here.
Now that she is weary of her Path.
Now that the time approaches....

The white forest woman,
In the spring of her Crossing
She sees the winter skies
In dreams of the past.

It is more...
And less...
Than she could have
Feared
Fathomed
Or hoped for.

Redemption demands its own price.

Smiles Behind the Mask
A flash of blade in the night.
Scream of pain at the hard lovebite.
Warm wet tongue lapping at the blood
Stinging slap of a hand within the glove.

Who makes me grovel and cry?
Begging, pleading, whimpering, sigh?
Who smiles behind the mask?
Tell me please, that's all I ask.

Soaring music brings me to the brink
Fills my mind until I can no longer think.
Music surrounds all that I am
Helplessly heeding its pounding command.

Who makes me grow so misty eyed?
Soaring, winging, plummeting from the sky?
Who smiles behind the mask?
Tell me please, that's all I ask.

Playful child, sparkling light.
Urge to cuddle, hold you tight.
Soft as a kitten, sweet as love
You are the one, my angel from above.

Who makes me so innocent and shy?
Carefree, loving, unafraid to die?
Who smiles behind the mask?
Tell me please, that's all I ask.

Figure it out, that is your task.
We are who we are, behind our mask.
Figure it out, in glory you bask.
We will watch with smiles, from behind our mask.

(Written "in character" by The Dark Lady.)

Death of a Warrior
(For Darkholm)
No more arm-clasp with brother-kin.
No more red cloak fluttered by wind.
No more step to the marching sound.
No more gaze to stare men down.
No more clashing of sword to shield.
No more forcing of enemy to yield.
He was struck by a mighty blow.
The Warrior's blood ceased to flow.
The Warrior cut down in his prime.
Bone and ash, consigned to time.
No more to feel the sweetest kiss.
No more to follow the Warrior's creed.
No more to fight the City's foes.
No more to fight.
No more to lead.

Dreams & Duct Tape
Dreams wandering through the landscape of the mind
Thoughts of fanciful flowers and sugar coated sweets
Tumble through the subconscious in thoughts of desire
And want.

Dreams of dark, frightening ambitions and horror reside here, too
As it should in a balance of Light and Dark. The trick is to reside
On the fulcrum - a foot within the light and a hand within
The dark.

Dreams hold our conscious together. Reality realized through the
Abstract thoughts of an untethered mind. Unbound by the laws of society
And mortality. Dreams are the Force that allow us to believe and
To create.

Duct tape is unassuming and a tool for the builder, the scrounger, the hack.
It has a strong dark side to hold it together against all odds - wind, rain, gravity
The situations in which it is used are endless. Its uses are only limited by
Your imagination.

Duct tape is of the Force, the Light side binding, holding all that it
Touches together as it should. That is what it is meant to do. It was designed
To help us through our worst physical nightmares of broken toys and dreams
Torn asunder.

Dreams and Duct tape have more in common than first thought. They each
Have a Light and a Dark side. They bind the fabric of their respective realities
Close in order to preserve all the is important to us. They hold our world and
Desires together.

One resides within the mind. The other within physical reality. However, dreams
Are the duct tape of the subconscious. Duct tape gives form to those dreams from
Within. It is a symbotic relationship. One cannot and will not survive without
The other.

Dreams & Duct Tape (Haiku)

Dreams of the Light
Travel through my mind sweetly.
Make life worth living.

Dreams of the Dark

(All are sick inside our minds.)

Frighten and excite me.

Our dream consciousness
Make our reality sane
Within the insane.

Duct tape has it, too.

A Light side and a Dark side

Binds the world close.

Dreams and Duct tape have
More in common than first thought.
Light and Dark within.

They hold the world

Together with bonds of might

That no one can break.

Dreams and Duct tape have
A relationship built on need.
One needs the other.

Dreams are the duct tape

Of subconscious desires.

Duct tape can bring form
To those dreams within the mind
And flesh out the thought.

Together, they bring

Hope, Ambition and Desire

Into fruitition.

Think on it and know
It is a symbotic
Relationship, too.

Treasures
Cupped in her hand, she opens the folds of silk to reveal
something to her eyes alone.
A gentle smile touches her lips as a soft glow of light emerges
From the black silk to dance across her face in a myriad of
Muted rainbow colors. She stares at her hidden treasure for
A long moment, seemingly lost in thought.

He watches her from his hidden vantage,
A faint shadow of darkness that hides the soft light within
That reveals his own treasure, knowing that it is more
Valuable that anything that she could be holding as
It is the most precious thing he has ever held
Within his heart,
Within his hand,
Within his mind,
Within his soul.

Knowing this is a great comfort, allowing him to give her the
Freedom to roam where she pleases, knowing that she will
Return to him when she is done exploring and playing out her
Whims. He knows that is one of her greatest treasures within her
Heart, knowing that she has all that she could ever want
With him and the freedom she needs so much.

Fresh as a rose bloom, fragile as a newborn,
Strong as steel, firey as a star.
That is the bond between them.
That is the treasure they give each other.
That is their love.

Short Hair & Hard Truths

I cut my hair short so it would swish free and bouncy.
That same day, my 'friend' cut me short.
Left me dangling in the wind.

Funny how a mental cut can hurt so much more than
A physical one.

He smiled as he told me that [We] would be better off
As 'acquaintances.' That our personalities clashed.
He didn't look me in the eye.

It is hard to look rejection in the face. But, at least,
He was honest with me.

On that day, I gained a new look and lost a friend.
One infinitely more valuable than the other.
Short hair grows.
Hard truths hurt.

Desperate Kisses
They stand together in a world of their own.
Foreheads and hands touching in a silent communion
of need, want, love and sadness. Unaware of the milling
crowd that surrounds them.

He is leaving her because he must. This is how it must be.
For how long, she doesn't know. She doesn't want to know.
They hug for a long time, trying to stretch the moments
onto Eternity with soft, passionate kisses and gentle touches.

The final call interrupts the lovers' last murmured words
that are now becoming desperate kisses to imprint their last thoughts
of wordless promises and feelings. Anything to sear this moment
and their love into the Annals of History.

At the last possible moment, he picks up his bags and reluctantly
disappears into the gate. She turns and hurries away with one
last, longing look. There are no tears - yet. Those will come later.
For now, she wonders if she will ever feel this way again.

9 1/2 Weeks

Open program.
Error message occurs.
Computer go boom.

Curses!
Foiled again.
There goes three days of work.

There are days when I think my life is
Nothing more than a bad cartoon that
Brings a knowing smile to another's face.

An adventure is someone a thousand miles away
Having a perfectly rotten time and
Wishing they were anywhere but there.

Blank computer screen.
Reboot the machine.
Starting from scratch again.

Only 9 1/2 weeks until my stocks vest.
Silicon Valley lottery tickets.
I should have stayed in bed.

She flees fast from Its unwavering sight
through the unending blackness of the night.
Panting hard, eyes wide, throat constricting tight
she prays this is only a horrible nightmare flight.

Sensing the monster more than seeing it near
closing in, claws ripping, heightening the fear.
Fleeing through the endless ebon halls clear,
on the darkest of nights - the death of a year.

Sunset hair flies behind her as she hears the sound
of a hungry, wanting, needing Evil unbound.
Stumbling, she falls to the hard, blackened ground,
then discovers a new landscape has been found.

Endless halls, now the dark horror forest scene,
filled with hidden monsters and grabbing branches green.
Running to escape this nightmare monster dream...
she sees Its shadow through the lazy, hazy steam.

Hearts abound as she sees the thing for which she prayed -
a door that promises sweet escape from this trap laid.
Through the portal unknown she praises the sudden aid,
Then the door is closed and she discovers - she is betrayed.

Underground maze of tunnels long, fills her with consternation.
She finds it to be her secret, horrified, deadly foundation.
Realizing the scene change and it's familiar configuration,
hope springs eternal - this must be just her imagination.

There is no doubt, it is nothing more than a horrible dream.
She stands her ground, facing her fear, the warrior queen.
It comes now - out of the darkness and through the steam,
with massive body, fangs and claws a-gleam.

No more will she flee this imaginary fiend and Its pitiful charade.
No more believing the horrible realities of the mind Its made.
No more will she play a part in this sickening game as It bades.
No more to continue in this bloody, macabre masquerade.

But... she discovers much too late in this nightmare scheme,
that all these things really are exactly as they seem...
and silence falls heavy across the misty landscape dream,
with the last echoes of rending flesh and her final scream.

Transformation
Restless, needing feeling.
Craving, wanting appealing.
So strong, leaves me reeling.
Falling to the floor.
Pacing, racing thought.
Seeking, reaching, something sought.
So strong, feeling caught.
Leaves me scrambling for the door.

Knowing, glowing, inner sight.
Folding, molding, taking flight.
Crying, flying, feeling right.
Finally, there�s something more!

Millennial Mistake

(Tongue firmly in cheek)

The world is ending, they're taking bets,
Stocking ammunition, booze and cigarettes!
The world is ending, pull the plug.
It's all because of this 'Y2K' bug!
No, "Armageddon is coming." - that's what they say.
Evangelists demand, "On your knees and pray!"
Behind your back they snicker at their luck.
This Millennium thing's great for a buck!
There's the other side that worships the dropping New York ball.
The Millennium New Year's Party will be the highlight of it all.
No grander a celebration will there ever be.
This is the greatest time to be alive, don't you see!
Now, I was watching this dichotomy of the human will.
A tribute to the paranoia, optimism, true grit and skill.
I knew that there was something that must be said.
I stepped to the mic with clear conscious and proud head...
I coughed a little, got their attention and began to speak.
Little did I know, that I was now up the creek.
"I don't mean to stop all your Millennium 'fun' -
But, technically, the Millennium begins at 2001."
Baleful eyes filled with paranoia, distain and dread,
turned towards me as one, making me turn red.
"It's true." I mumbled in a defense incredibly weak.
That's when I realized... No one likes a math geek.

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(C) 1989-2001 - Eden Blackthorn