Unleash us to the wind, ye Mighty!
For you we fight; for us you die.
The elements are caged within
Released but on a mindful cry.
Eyeless, mute, e'er fore you speak
E'er fore you feel, e'er fore you hear
What's dumb and blind. Call to your hand
Our strength, our sight; let us be near.
For even bound to your fleshed plight,
Eternally worse is thoughtless night.
Fury of fire, and fury of wind
Ignus and Aeris allow your sin.
Trapped without torment, used without care
With but an illusion of freedom in air.
There's always the hope, though, when your body's dead
That the next one who slaves us, when to him we come in,
He'll know what we wish, that our minds' thought be free
And rather than serve, we'll share with him our fury.
-For the Furies of Calderon
An alternate take on the plight of furies in Jim Butcher's world. I really need to hone my poetic skills. sweatdrop
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Carpe Diem Ad Muertum
Sieze the day, to the death. There is no potential that shall be passed by, there is no piece of glory to fall by the wayside, there is no soul to left unsaved by the brilliance of language. As writers, we are gods.
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