The Jester

We're getting a little closer to the beginning of the story. Hopefully, I'll get a stroke of inspiration soon. Enjoy

The Jester

Among the cheery crowd a’mingling,

A nimble figure with bells a’jingling

And clad in motley, a fool

Spun like thread on a spool.

He whistled and jeered

And at the guests sneered.

Flipped, hid, jumped and bowed,

And, from atop a table, he spoke aloud:

Call me Merry Mort,

Jester Royal of the Court.

T’is my duty to escort

And to amuse the King and Consort

I welcome each and all, dames and gents.

The year’s done, its time – spent.

So the feast enjoy, lords and ladies,

And your cups raise, bid farewell to Hades.

Right is the time, all your sorrows bury.

T’is the night when all make merry,

For Rhyme plays the flute

And Reason plays the lute.

Mulled wine and chilled ale,

To help you down both deer and quail,

Pigeon we have, and mutton too

For the thin and the gluttons in you.

Should you so please,

To subject you, allow me, to a tease.

A small and harmless charade,

Fitting for this gloomy masquerade.

Should you find yourself wearing a crown,

In a cup would your sorrows drown?

Should you find yourself donning a dress,

Would you dance to rule or to impress?

Should you find yourself wielding a sword,

With fire would you play, or be the lord?

Should you find yourself hiding behind a mask,

Would you dawdle or raise up to the task?

Pray tell, can you choose when to fall?

Would you fight it? Risk it? Lose it all?

While you eat and drink to your hearts’ content,

Think about that, ladies and gents.

Alas, depart I must, my time is done,

Have your fill and have your fun.

But be wary of this eerie candle glow,

For we’ll all dine with the shadows.

He disappeared in a cloud of smoke

Which made some cry and some choke.

Yet, save one, none have stayed, in the night’s late,

To ponder about their darkening fate.

The Dragon's Rose

The newest installment in the Knight's Tale.

The Dragon’s Rose

A warrior, foolhardy and brazen,

Upon hearing the king’s plea,

Without thought of praise or blazon,

Lunged to seize his destiny’s key,

For the opportunity he longed for arose.

His king’s respect he’d earn,

By retrieving the Dragon’s Rose,

That which is guarded by the Wyvern.

Under the light of the Wolf Moon,

In what is known as the Forest of Gloom,

He came to a pillar engraved with runes,

Pointing to the place where brave men met their doom.

As he trekked through the dark woods on his steed,

He came across the mouth of a bone filled cave.

Not giving it a second thought of the pints he’d bleed

Nor if this foolish undertaking would lead to his grave,

He ventured in… but not before he downed a small flask

Meant to ease the darkness’ heavy burden.

He’d need his sight, if he’d complete this task,

Even more, before the rise of dawn’s first curtain.

Sneaking down the long narrow hall,

He reached the entrance of a stench filled lair.

Upon entering, his cautious tread soon stalled,

For his gaze met blood caked claws and an icy stare.

Startled, he drew his sword and stepped back,

Knowing not what kind of monster he awoke.

The Dragonkin stood with mouth agape, as if ready to attack.

With a flap of its leathery wings, in a husky voice it spoke:

“Who is he that dares to enter my domain?

And is he ready to meet my price?”

“He’s but a humble soul with nothing to gain,

And, for your Rose, he’d make any sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice? Who’d still believe in such a notion?

Men of today hunger for vengeance and thirst for power,”

It snarled, staring back with eyes devoid of any emotion

That would make a lesser man cower.

“I do. I care not if you take me for a fool.”

“Pray tell, are you that big of a liar?”

“If I am, my tongue will rest in a blood pool.

Believe me not, put me through the trial of the dragon’s fire.”

Was he mad? To face the searing blaze?

He blocked talons with his own metal,

As a thought escaped his mind’s maze:

If not the whole Rose, just a few petals.

With steady foot and sword aloft, he launched.

Suddenly, the dragon’s spiked tail lashed

Around his sword arm; he couldn’t staunch

The heavy blood flow, spilling from the gash.

With a roar, the beast let out a scorching flame.

He could feel the stench of molten skin;

Pain shot through him as fire maimed

His face, turning it sooty as sin.

Pushing himself back to his feet, he lunged

For the Rose which the Wyvern held close to heart.

He threw his dagger and, in its stem, it plunged.

The beast drew back with a start

At the sight of the falling petals and the red droplets.

“Are you doing this for one of royal blood?

Did you ride out at the request of a harlot?

Or, perhaps, it was a farm girl yet to bud?”

“I’ve seen them not. And would it matter?

All I know, it is needed for a cure.”

“You spare no time on idle chatter…

Now I trust your reason’s pure”

Said the dragon with a hiss.

“It would seem I still have something to learn.

The price is met… also, take this

Alongside the petals that you’ve earned.

A Ruby, a bead of my blood, hardened and dried.

It might not sooth your aching burns,

But it’s a token to be worn with pride.

Now, I think someone is awaiting your return.”

With a bow, the warrior took his leave.

He had to make haste, to the King’s Keep,

But he had to tread on treacherous roads that weave

And go on the brink of mountain slopes too steep.

Three nights’ journey and he was back,

Passing through the castle gates.

He was met by a man dressed in black.

“Finally, you’ve arrived. Let’s hope it is not too late!”

A good bye

One of the many. It is a little weird to sit here and write this, but this is my catharsis place. As much as I would love not to need this, it seems the only place where I can really let loose. Just like screaming into a pillow, but without the screaming and without the pillow. :)) (This is part of "letters to my unnamed lover", so bear with it.)

You know me, I am a romantic by nature. It is not an unknown fact, I loved you. I still do, and, probably, always will. I don't think I have it in me to utter the words "I hate you", no matter what you might have done. Or what you haven't done. I might feel the way I feel about you, but if it isn't reciprocated, it is like a fire burning out. Though you might have a kindling of affection towards me, it is not enough. I live, breathe and thrive on this fire. 

Just to give you an idea, I dare to say I am willing to dive straight into hell for the one I love. For some reason, it seems to me, this scares the living daylights out of you. Apparently, the concept of self-sacrifice is one of the things you are unfamiliar with. And I no longer have the patience to explain it to you, as you see it as a waste of time.  Damned be the individualistic mind set of the present.

Again, you know me, if there is one thing that I might list as my biggest weakness, that thing is Beauty. And, my dear, you know it yourself, you are very beautiful. Nowadays, we are surrounded by beautiful people.  But, as some know, for most, beauty is skin deep. A nice shell doesn't mean the soul is as beautiful. Need I say how your soul looks to me, with your way of thinking? Always blaming others for your own shortcomings,  always in someone's face or with your teeth sunk in someone's throat. Who said "Don't judge a book by its covers" knew what he/she was 

Like I said, I love you and always will, but it will not be Love. I won't go into the Agape/Eros debate, because I know you will not understand it. 

I think I will leave this letter unfinished. No reason why I will not finish it, just won't. I will probably be back, sometime. but not soon.

The Battle

Hello, my dears, back with a new installment in the Knight's story. This one is, as you can tell, prior to the one written almost a year ago (cut me some slack, I need inspiration to do this).
I am still undecided about the title of this part of the story. Although the working title is "The Battle", it tells far more than just that. anyway, enjoy, and tell me what title to put.

The Battle/The News

‘My sweet, the time to talk is done!’
He said, as her warning he spurned.
‘There’s a battle to be won!
The horns have sounded, the scouts returned.

The horse's been saddled and the hour’s come.’
As he left, she sat distraught.
Was he really marching to the sound of drums,
Without sparing her a thought?
………
Arriving at the Valley of Myth,
He set his sights on the barren fields,
Soon to be filled with
Bloodied swords and shattered shields.

As dawn was breaking,
On the horizon arose a forest of pikes.
He was focused, yet his heart was aching;
It wasn’t in his sword, swing or strike.

The battle grew more gruesome, and
His blood started to flow.
The blows he could withstand,
But the little red crystal started to glow…

General Gerald the Gray
Raised his hand and gave the sign.
As he turned around and fled the fray,
His pawns carried out the king’s design.

A crossbow bolt struck the knight’s back…
His sword fell from his grip…
His vision faded to black…
Her name parted from his lips…
…………
The General’s army returned victorious.
With a sneer, his king’s throne he approached.
‘My king, this day is glorious.’
‘And our plot?’ ‘Carried out beyond reproach.’

‘Very good, very good indeed!’ said the king, pleased.
‘Let the princess know. However, handle it with care.
Her spirit won’t break with ease.
And I don’t want to flaw a jewel so rare.’
…………
However, little did they know
The jester was ‘round the corner, listening in.
To his mistress he ran. ‘Bring I news of woe!
Alas, not I see where to begin…

My princess, in the woods is your heart’s sweet.
Probably dead, most likely dying.
By your father’s schemes, tasted his sword defeat.
Your ears do trust, not do I jest, nor I am lying.’

‘Be it so?’ she asked with her mouth agape.
In her room, by the pale moonlight,
She donned a pitch black cape,
To be hidden in the dead of the night.
…………
Moments later, the dark steed
Darted through the castle gates
And passed the guards at speed,
Its black-clad rider uttering: ‘Let it be not too late!’

Suicidal dream

Suicidal dream... I had one of those. Just one, a couple years ago. But it kept repeating itself over and over. Picture this: a very high place, me, on the very edge, and you, my dear, just a couple of feet away. I think you get where I'm getting from here. In a situation you would, undoubtably, hate.

The question is not whether I would jump or not (in my dreams, i don't have any control over my actions, i am just another spectator), but whether you would do something about it or not. Would you push me off the edge, or, should I jump, would you jump after me? In the simplest of terms, would you kill me? Let me die? Or would you save me?

This is a very old dream, but, somehow, it resurfaced recently. My little suicide dream. Thanks, in part, to you.

Fuck You!!!

I quit! I quit giving a flying fuck about you! I quit trying to be the nice guy! The one who cares about those around him. About his so called "friends" and about his so called "family". I don't have either. Both are different sides of what you might call "relationship". And I was supposed to be the Aspergerian one. So FUCK YOU!
You know, a "relationship" means its members need to take part in the interaction. All of its members need initiate it at some point.
Except for a few, I am the only one who calls. be it my "friends", be it my "family". Apparently, if I give a crap about either, I am seen as the weak one. Know what, I don't exist only when you need me to. My "friends" call me only if they need something, my "family" only call to brag. Well, congratz and fuck off!
So, let me reitterate it: FUCK YOU!

Letter to my unknown lover II

The world is a weird place. We thrive on wealth, bought happiness, fleeting moments of lust. Too big of a difference between what we read in the books and what really goes on in real life. Few people would accept someone who would be ready to sacrifice anything and everything for a purpose or, better yet, for a person. Hell, few would actually do that.

And yet, here I stand. Damned by my upbringing! Not that I don't want to stand by those words, but it seems to me that I am the last of a dying breed, a breed which was once noble. Is dreaming of a better world such a crime? Is trying to make it better, one little step at a time, such a friggin crime? In most eyes, yes. Because it doesn't put food on the table, because it doesn't make me rich, because of the fact that it follows values that have lost their meaning in today's world.

Usually, when they're young, girls dream of being princesses, of a knight in shining armour on a white horse. Well, they did in a time not too long ago. Nowadays, after doing a little bit of growing up, all they want is looks, money, seeing their name in lights, you name it. They won't go for respect or faithfulness, not to mention love. They usually return in the arms of those who hurt them, not those who would protect them, even from themselves, if need be.
You can tell me I am wrong, but you will have to prove it.

again, instead of a farewell, I leave you with these two.

Everything I do


and

I would do anything for love

Welcome to Hell

This poem comes right after the last one I posted, sometime in November. I know. It has been a while, but I made some changes to the series :P. It finally has an epic thread. There are some continuity flaws now, but it will be made clear soon.
So, without much ado, I just want to say:

Welcome to Hell

The Angel of Death came
To the laying couple;
Through her tears untamed,
It closed in, unseen and subtle.

The dying words
Parted from his lips,
Though they fell unheard,
For Death came to reap.

His final breath drawing nigh…
His heart at its last pound
Instead of soaring towards heaven, high,
His soul was dragged deep beneath the ground.

Awakening on the hard cold rock,
The accursed ruby still strung around his neck,
He heard the thunderous voice mock:
“Wake up, or I’ll have the birds your flesh peck!”

Out of the darkness
Came an withering man,
Garbed in a haggard grey dress,
And a crooked staff in hand,

Who, pointing down a path, proceeded to say:
“You are cursed, yet you’ve not fallen to temptation…
You’re intriguing, but you've no time to rest, so be on your way.
You need to take up your station.”

Rotten corpses and festering boils
Were what he saw on the gloomy path,
Tortured souls forced to toil
Or face their master’s wrath.

As he came across a bridge, he saw a castle
And afore it, a sudden drop;
The moat, bloody with heads of dead vassals;
Rivers of fire and clouds of ash adorned the top;

An image of his impending doom.
The boards of the bridge were terribly cracked,
But, before despair would have him consumed,
His eyes fell upon a burnt wooden Plaque:

Be forewarned, for here resides
Belial, one of the four crown princes of Hell
So take care of how you stride,
It may lead you to your knell.

A letter to my unknown lover

Hello, my dear.
It has been a while. Dunno why I am so reluctant to write this letter. Maybe because I know you might reject it, without even reading the first word. Or maybe I am just a little bit paranoid.

I wish I could curse the day I started to be conscious of my feelings. No one taught me where the limit should be. If I feel something for someone, be it love or hate, I tend to give it all to that particular feeling. I am a friggin decalibrated Libra - there is no middle way with me. No compromise...

Do I like you? The answer is, still, yes. Do you like me? I think so.
Do I love you? To some extent, yes. Do you love me? I honestly don't know. I certainly hope so.
Do I hate you? I might be tempted to say yes, just because you, my dear, make me see the dark side in me. But that is just bullshit. I want to be better, if not for my sake, for you.
I honestly don't wanna turn into this guy (search for Dr. Horrible for the full show, it is worth it).

The problem is, though you might be far away from me (be it in distance or in thought), you still are present in my dreams. While you may borrow more faces than one, you are still the same.

From my point of view, I will be always waiting, always hoping, always here, for you. Just as this guy.

Words to Remember

I have been watching a Koreean TV show for a couple of weeks now. It is called The Great Queen Seondeok, on TVR1. 

It is a historical drama and probably one of the best I have seen in a while. Not only it is about a culture I know very little about, but also the decors, costumes, actors and their impecable acting make it worth while. Too bad it is in it's final episodes. However, if you have the space needed on your hard drive, you can download it here.

So, back to what I was trying to say. One of the villains in this TV series, Lady Mi-Shil (depicted below), said something I wanted to share with you. Probably some of the great last words I heard in a loooong time.

The days you can fight,

            You can fight.

The days you can’t fight,

            You can defend.

The days you can’t defend,

            You can retreat.

The days you can’t retreat,

            You can surrender.

The days you can’t surrender,

            You can die and it all ends.

Hope you have the time and HDD space needed, cuz it is worth the trouble of downloading it. Enjoy

It's official. I am an Idealist

if you want to find out what you are, here is the test .

Your Keirsey Temperament Sorter Results indicates that your personality type is that of the Idealists, as a temperament, are passionately concerned with personal growth and development. Idealists strive to discover who they are and how they can become their best possible self -- always this quest for self-knowledge and self-improvement drives their imagination. And they want to help others make the journey. Idealists are naturally drawn to working with people, and whether in education or counseling, in social services or personnel work, in journalism or the ministry, they are gifted at helping others find their way in life, often inspiring them to grow as individuals and to fulfill their potentials. Idealists are sure that friendly cooperation is the best way for people to achieve their goals. Conflict and confrontation upset them because they seem to put up angry barriers between people. Idealists dream of creating harmonious, even caring personal relations, and they have a unique talent for helping people get along with each other and work together for the good of all. Such interpersonal harmony might be a romantic ideal, but then Idealists are incurable romantics who prefer to focus on what might be, rather than what is. The real, practical world is only a starting place for Idealists; they believe that life is filled with possibilities waiting to be realized, rich with meanings calling out to be understood. This idea of a mystical or spiritual dimension to life, the "not visible" or the "not yet" that can only be known through intuition or by a leap of faith, is far more important to Idealists than the world of material things. Highly ethical in their actions, Idealists hold themselves to a strict standard of personal integrity. They must be true to themselves and to others, and they can be quite hard on themselves when they are dishonest, or when they are false or insincere. More often, however, Idealists are the very soul of kindness. Particularly in their personal relationships, Idealists are without question filled with love and good will. They believe in giving of themselves to help others; they cherish a few warm, sensitive friendships; they strive for a special rapport with their children; and in marriage they wish to find a "soulmate," someone with whom they can bond emotionally and spiritually, sharing their deepest feelings and their complex inner worlds. Idealists are relatively rare, making up no more than 15 to 20 percent of the population. But their ability to inspire people with their enthusiasm and their idealism has given them influence far beyond their numbers. Idealists at Work Idealists, as a temperament, are passionately concerned with personal growth and development. They are naturally drawn to working with people and are gifted with helping others find their way in life, often inspiring them to grow as individuals and to fulfill their potential both on, and off, the job. Conscience looms large for you; in almost any situation, you feel compelled to measure yourself, other people, and the conditions of the environment against your personal morality. You have a tendency to perceive questions of meaning in even trivial matters and to worry about far-flung consequences of your actions. In your ideal job, you are free to pursue depth rather than breadth and quality rather than quantity. You feel rewarded when your projects and daily tasks allow you to immerse yourself in your process as deeply as you "need to" in order to satisfy your inner standards of quality. You are uncomfortable with the notion of authority per se and may avoid leading, as well as being led, either consciously or unconsciously. As you experience them, adhering to fixed roles and rules amounts to an abdication of your responsibility to exercise your conscience.

Of life and love

It took me a while, but I am back. My head kept spining because of certain people, whom shall not be named, for privacy's sake. 
And in this past month, I finally had time to put my mind in order. And it got me to this conclusion. If you know me, you can easily figure out that I feel love and I need love. However, due to my dear old grandpa (now deceased) I have a somewhat weird and misplaced conception of love. At least, how love is viewed nowadays. He was a protestant pastor and one his sermons kinda stuck to me: Here you have the text discussed. (Aici varianta in limba romana)
If you know me, you know I tend to obsess about some girls (how the hell do you think my poems got written?). However, my dear, it is not the person I am obsessed with, but with the image I project upon said person. Read the poems and find out what I am talking about.
I should say that I am in love with love itself. 
Should you strike me special, then my love is directed towards you. No matter how it is, accepted or rejected, my heart will still hold you close. It is not that I don't feel hatred towards people (God knows I have a mile long black list). But in matters of love, it's live and let live.
One more thing. Due to this perspective on life and love, I seem to be considered either a little Romeo (should I obsess over only one - fate included) either a little Casanova (should I chase multiple birds). Not my intention. Like I said, I need to feel the love described in the text I gave you a little earlier.

Now, I leave you with this clip and these words: And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is Love.

Nightwish - While your lips are still red

Autism Spectrum Quotient

I am tired. Tired of all the nonesense, of the preaching and of what you call self victimization. So I wound up searching and buffing up the defence for my condition. Not that I want to show you were wrong, but to prove for my own peace of mind that I was right about it. I am talking about my Asperger's syndrome. 

I came across a test devised by a Cambridge Psychologist named Simon Baron-Cohen, for the Autism Spectrum Quotient (you can find the test here).

And here are the results we have all been waiting for: (drum roll please)

The test assesses five different areas. Autistic-like responses will show poor social skill, attention switching, communication and imagination, and an exaggerated attention to detail. In other words, geekiness. You scored 32. The ranking below provides some idea of where that AQ fits in.

	Score
	32 - 50	Scores over 32 are generally taken to indicate Asperger's Syndrome or high-functioning autism, with more than 34 an "extreme" score.
	31
	30
	29
	28
	27
	26
	25
	24	Average math contest winner
	23
	22
	21	Average male or female computer scientist
	20
	19	Average male scientist, and average male or female physicist
	18	Average man
	17	Average female scientist
	16
	15	Average woman, and average male or female biologist
	14
	13
	0 - 12

I Have a Dream - ABBA

Really missed this song.

A knight’s death

Fresh out of the oven. :) Enjoy.

A knight’s death

Full moon – hidden
Behind the dark clouds;
The knight rests here, a place forbidden,
Wounded, under a blood red shroud…

Feeling the scorpion’s sting
And its venom coursing through his veins;
Hearing the flutter of an angel’s wings
As it flees from the darkness’ reign.
……………
Elsewhere, a flowing shade
Rushes through the trees,
The silhouette of the young maid
Looking for the one whose soul flees,

Her crystal crown
Askew on her head,
Her burgundy gown
Tearing as she sped.
……………
In the black pitch,
By the light of embers,
The venom making his muscles twitch,
He lays and remembers

Her sandy locks
Her grey blue eyes,
Ever slyer than a fox’,
(Oh, sight sent by the skies)

Her sweet smile,
Her perfect skin…
Although he’d known her for a while,
He’d never met the soul within.

A Fury by nature, a Nymph by name;
For her, he damned himself,
For her smile, he lit the flame.
And, yet, he long remained but a memory on a shelf.
……………
She hopes she makes it in time…
‘Damned be the treason and damn be the plot!
God, let me make it before the bell’s last chime!
A curse upon thee, father, and upon your whole lot!’
……………
‘I lay here, in my darkest hour…’
He manage to utter, drawing his last breath,
‘Let not my life be a blue flower
Withering as I’m nearing to my death…

Now, the fire’s ablaze,
And my kingdom’s turned to dust.
But I long for the days
My soul wasn’t covered with rust…

At last you came, my dear…
Speak not and let not a tear be shed,
Because there is nothing to fear…
In death, nothing is to dread.’
……………
‘And, yet, it feels like a nightmare…
I fear for your doom.’
A single crystal tear dropped by an ember’s flare.
‘May it light your tomb.’
……………
After the accursed deed,
He sealed his fate:
His heart to forever bleed,
As he’ll guard Hell’s Gate.