the forgotten

[Tulay Takekaze]

yet another night denied the blessings of Morpheus's sweet embrace

mind racing awake and withdrawn from the veil of sweet slumber

memories running and resurfacing as old as the stars themselves

the sweet visions of the times when the veils were not locked

when the halls of Valhalla were open to all those worthy souls

whom Odin would welcome and feast with as if they were of his own blood

and by the morning sun they would train and battle in preparation

when the time that Helheim's tending lines were not neglected by their Mistress

and sang with the flow of those passed from the plain of flesh

and headed to their reincarnation in their next lives

when the Elysium fields were open to the casual traveler and may be visited easily

the scent of the wheat, ripe and heavy with the time of harvest

when Olympus was not separated so far from the other realms

and Zeus's randieness was to be wary of

when the beauties of Shangri-La were open to the world and

the ambrosia of immortality was not so closely guarded an item

and long before the Hebrew God was conceived, born, or thought of

and long before the blind religious savaging wars that came after.

 

another hour passes it feels like a countless number

my soul burns with the countless years it has lived

here on this planet, and on the previous ones

and memories slowly drift to me, memories of the world

of Cyro in its glory as we set the last stones into place

feeling a sense of pride as we looked out at what we had managed to accomplish

of the cold stones against the heat of the high noon sun

in Tikal as i listen to the priests and priestesses go about business

of the simple pleasures of a flute to play while watching over sheep

on a hill overlooking the great Mediterranean while others cook our simple meal

of the golden palaces and temples of the Chinese that i either served in

or helped to build, those scents and smells so very fill my senses even now

the feel of sweat and the touch of tiredness in my muscles as i worked

long folding the nabe-gane many times working out impurities

and strengthening the blade of my katanas

and little memories of being the kings potter and saving the little girl

from the gypsies who wanted to abuse her

of being the ice-field hunter wanting naught to do with the humans

who scorned me and tried to chase me off

and yet it was i who kept the monsters at bay from them

chased off the dragons, and showed those things that go bump

that there was more powerful that laid claim to those lands

 

all these memories and more

and now i am here

my body is still young this time around

yet i am plagued with arthritis

and my body wracked with seizures and heat issues

many days i have no idea who i am or who my lover is

even though i am waking up next to them

and i am here left to wonder, what is it i have forgotten that has so punished me?

[Peredhil]

Epic imagery. Reminds me a bit of Roger Zelazny in a way. The near total lack of punctuation is deliberate, yes? I take it to indicate the constant stream of thoughts of a brain too awake in a body too tired to sleep.