Daily Archives: April 18, 2013

Nesorna’s Monologue

I can not say I feel as if reborn —
and yet, there is a newness about me,
a cleanliness of spirit, that springs forth
from a new source, unknown and without name.

What words I choose can only dent the veil
of this deliverer that spawns such hope;
mere words cannot define this flash of light
that now illuminates my sorrowed pain.

Yes, pain: that wracking, scream of agony
which celebrates itself in birth and life.
I feel it not, but in its place I find
an agony of quite a deeper sort.

The pangs of transformation I now bear
bring me aware to planes of solid thought;
and in that heightened state they bid me stay
to question of my place and of my fate.

‘Tis true, that once I sought an early death,
as a small child might, innocent, seek change
in this too often monstrous, hateful world:
my simple wish to end all pain for good.

I offered prayer and hearkened to the Gods,
beseeching them to show themselves to me —
and wished that to their presence I could fly,
or that they soon would take me from this place.

But whimpering days of longing are no more,
and with its cloak of cold and glorious bliss,
this night has brought with it a wind of change
and I am more resolved to live than die.

This wind, more like a gale, has brought me life,
and set me on a pinnacle of hope —
here, tempest-swept, I stand, my spirit strong
and am renewed and ready for this day.

But where to start in this great future land,
this new discovered world of strength and truth?
The starting is the easy part, I know –
as for the finish, therein lies the test.

The glow of reason may not light this quest,
this enterprise that, virgin, waits untried;
and treachery is sure to find me, too,
yet I must follow out into this wind.

For be it so, or perhaps not to be,
it is not mine to yea, or nay, command;
It matters not if heaven is the goal,
nor if to hell’s doorway the breezes blow.

If strength or folly, whether good or ill,
this changeling spirit offers more to me,
more promise to my dark-encumbered soul
than any specter from my past has done.

Therefore, I must now gird myself anew,
and into time’s wide chasm throw my lot –
not backward, where my spirit found its root,
but into the un-named and unknown now.

I am resolved to hesitate no more,
but follow that which beckons from beyond;
and move into what learned men have called
the history and quest of all mankind.

But quiet now, the dawn approaches soon,
and it will prove me wise man, or buffoon.


From The Trial of Nesorna, Nesorna’s Monologue, Act I, Scene 4

The Borderlines

Watch along the borderlines,
out where the edges meet
and mix their colors in the sand
that stretches down the beach,
not knowing of a start or end
or which belongs to which,
whose property is over there
or just who owns what ditch.

Watch along the borderlines
that meet in shades of gray
and turn to solid black or white
at least ten miles away.
Up close, there is no clarity
or sense of this and that,
no exit signs above the door
nor worn out welcome mat.

Watch along the borderlines,
where fences do not last
but turn to rust and fade away,
their ink not colorfast.
Out here, there is no us or them,
no sane or lunacy;
only horizon stretching on,
connecting sea to sea.

18 APR 2013