Imperatus Rex
Semper Imperatus
~ Prosper and The Train ~ [8-31-17]
"What is on your mind, Prosper?"
"Hm? Oh... Not much."
The sounds of the train rolling along steel tracks seemed to blend into a an ambiance, even drowning out some conversations within. Prosper is a young man, hardly a young adult, yet he always seemed to be travelling someplace, almost always work related.
The lady sitting across from him gives a friendly smile, and studies his nearly blank stare out the window, overlooking snow and ice coating the thick patches of forests.
As the trees seemed to grow only noticably less sparse, the train began to slow down. Prosper raises an eyebrow, before having a brief expression of realization.
When the train finally slows to a halt, a quaint train station, seemingly hidden amongst the maze of frozen creeks and trees, greets the opening door. He stands up and collects his things, and nods to the lady in substitute of a goodbye.
"I always thought Prosper was an interesting name..." The lady says, although the young man was already out of earshot before the sounds left her lips.
- - - - -
~ Lucet ~
All I recall from the encounter, is what I still hold within my pocket. A small scrap in my clutched hand, wood pulp paper from my penny dreadful.
O' what I would give... What I would take... Just to hear her voice once more. Such romantic thoughts are poisoning my blood, but if only her honey-sweetened lips might nullify the metal dust on my tongue.
I occasionally look back at the bit of paper, certain of what is there but much less of what I see. I see a name, on a paper, plain as day. Yes, day, her expressions bright and glossy as a star, blinding those unfit for the rhapsody in store.
But what of a name, from a lass I might never again see, if I cannot say it to myself. If I cannot verify this fever dream, verify my hallucinations, then what is a name to me? Standing on the bridge in the evening dim, I read the graphite scripture, and whisper under my breath, followed with a smile as the name disappears into the wind.
"Lucet"
- - - - -
~ Ilithi ~
Mirthful dusklight hues,
Glee from gossip and booze,
Is followed quickly,
By the maiden Ilithi.
Who is this maiden,
Who is this Ilithi?
Some propose Bosom for Tragedy,
Others propose Beast of the Haven.
However,
As a weathered man once claimed,
As a survivor he played,
'Ilithi was a fevering haze.'
'The maiden of twilight,
Twilight being light to a wee grove.
The grove being within fine mist,
Smelling therein of bitter teas,
And of wilted leaves.
Such smells would be subtle,
Yet little true doubt lingered,
Her potent scent,
Lead my descent,
No strength or rebuttle...
I felt a prick on my finger.
All fell silent as I stare,
A small thorn pierced me,
I was still unaware.
The maiden came to me,
In my fever dreams,
Braiding her hair,
Atop the moonlights fair,
Somberly gazing.
Never speak,
Never think,
Unless ye' hear her weep,
The cursed name Ilithi.'
- - - - -
That is all for now. This is just misc writing of mine, no real theme or purpose.
"What is on your mind, Prosper?"
"Hm? Oh... Not much."
The sounds of the train rolling along steel tracks seemed to blend into a an ambiance, even drowning out some conversations within. Prosper is a young man, hardly a young adult, yet he always seemed to be travelling someplace, almost always work related.
The lady sitting across from him gives a friendly smile, and studies his nearly blank stare out the window, overlooking snow and ice coating the thick patches of forests.
As the trees seemed to grow only noticably less sparse, the train began to slow down. Prosper raises an eyebrow, before having a brief expression of realization.
When the train finally slows to a halt, a quaint train station, seemingly hidden amongst the maze of frozen creeks and trees, greets the opening door. He stands up and collects his things, and nods to the lady in substitute of a goodbye.
"I always thought Prosper was an interesting name..." The lady says, although the young man was already out of earshot before the sounds left her lips.
- - - - -
~ Lucet ~
All I recall from the encounter, is what I still hold within my pocket. A small scrap in my clutched hand, wood pulp paper from my penny dreadful.
O' what I would give... What I would take... Just to hear her voice once more. Such romantic thoughts are poisoning my blood, but if only her honey-sweetened lips might nullify the metal dust on my tongue.
I occasionally look back at the bit of paper, certain of what is there but much less of what I see. I see a name, on a paper, plain as day. Yes, day, her expressions bright and glossy as a star, blinding those unfit for the rhapsody in store.
But what of a name, from a lass I might never again see, if I cannot say it to myself. If I cannot verify this fever dream, verify my hallucinations, then what is a name to me? Standing on the bridge in the evening dim, I read the graphite scripture, and whisper under my breath, followed with a smile as the name disappears into the wind.
"Lucet"
- - - - -
~ Ilithi ~
Mirthful dusklight hues,
Glee from gossip and booze,
Is followed quickly,
By the maiden Ilithi.
Who is this maiden,
Who is this Ilithi?
Some propose Bosom for Tragedy,
Others propose Beast of the Haven.
However,
As a weathered man once claimed,
As a survivor he played,
'Ilithi was a fevering haze.'
'The maiden of twilight,
Twilight being light to a wee grove.
The grove being within fine mist,
Smelling therein of bitter teas,
And of wilted leaves.
Such smells would be subtle,
Yet little true doubt lingered,
Her potent scent,
Lead my descent,
No strength or rebuttle...
I felt a prick on my finger.
All fell silent as I stare,
A small thorn pierced me,
I was still unaware.
The maiden came to me,
In my fever dreams,
Braiding her hair,
Atop the moonlights fair,
Somberly gazing.
Never speak,
Never think,
Unless ye' hear her weep,
The cursed name Ilithi.'
- - - - -
That is all for now. This is just misc writing of mine, no real theme or purpose.
