What word is this, wisdom's slayer,
breath-hastening, heart-bestirring,
rushing of blood, reddening cheek,
stilling of speech, sudden silence?

What power is this, pulse-quickening,
fiercer than fire, fear-awakening,
dream-sending, sleep-destroying,
eye-brightening with burning salt-flood?

What joy is this, jewel-shining,
sweet as sunrise, song-inspiring,
smile-lighting, laughter-beguiling,
wonder-working, wish-blessing?

I have seen two people crushed by despair.

This poem is for one of them.

If you can read this -- you who gave my play four out of five -- yes, you! -- then please believe it.


Out of the dark will come the dawning day,
through which Sunrifter strides its shining way.
Doubt not the light, that pierces darkness through;
doubt not my words, nor what I tell you true,
although the shadows loom and skies are gray.

When Knights go forth to keep the foe at bay
and meet the hordes of evil in the fray,
'tis their great hope to beckon such as you
out of the dark.

Their wish is to redeem and not to slay,
and to the gods for that they duly pray:
more prized than crystals violet or blue
are those once lost, who now are found anew.
Now therefore come, as quickly as you may,
out of the dark.


Topaz

SUNRETURNING


Wicked the wind, winter's minion.
Icy breath from eastern mountains,
caverns of frost, cold demon-lairs,
sweeps over plains and shivering grasslands
to the southern shore, the sea-border.
Down the desert it drives the sand,
freezing and fierce. Fleeing, the scorpions
hide in the Wall: winter is here.

In the pirate keeps of Kilican Island,
at Ethucan's borders, its barred gateway,
and over Valorn, from Verthedge to Fartown,
the days are short, the dark descending.
Deepening yet, the year's midnight,
cold and heavy, covers the land.

Then Sunrifter turns, retracing its steps:
the long night lightens, lifting the gloom
dark as N'rolav. The day-flower
unfurls its petals, pale and shadowed,
but holding hope, the high gods' promise.

So Valorn's foes, vile darkness-followers,
strive to shadow our strongholds and dwellings,
with a long siege, a slow overcoming.
With cold fear, cruel enslavement
and dreadful death they dare to threaten.

But the light stands. In starkest winter
the fires of Valorn valiantly burn,
holding at bay Balthazar's minions.
They flee the fire by friendship kindled;
they run from the light of laughing companions,
the sound of sword-mates singing together,
glad guild-gatherings, greetings to strangers,
smiles and hand-clasps, shouts of joy.
Against that strength they strive in vain,
as darkness strives, yet Sunrifter prevails,
striding the path of sunreturning.



Topaz