[Requiem - XRE] 1886 "I've known rivers"
[The following was inspired by one of my favorite poems of all time, and by the writings of ravens_lair, advice and commentary welcome as always]
I've known rivers:
The churning of the great paddle wheel against the turgid waters of the river sound softly through the still humid air of the night. The heartbeat of a great beast as it forges its way along it's course. Shiny down upon the riverboat is a night sky is so thick with stars as to bath the moonless night in shadows deep and thick. A fitting home for Shadows, one such stands quiet upon the prow of the boat, Stetson shaded eyes staring intensely ahead. A dark man in a dark night, skin the color of ebon, and clothes of sable and silver, so unmoving as to be considered a statue.
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow
. . . of human blood in human veins.
The Moor gazed across the river and watched the tree line with the sharp-eyed scrutiny that made those men that had considered drawing down on him think twice, and yet the mask of maudlin thoughtfulness, even in the night's starlight filled darkness, like a candle's flame to the moth of many an intrigued lady. The Moor moved just fractionally at the reflections of the many faces he had had to wear throughout his requiem. Heretic, Heathen, and Hellion... Academic, Adventurer and Antagonist. The bard spoke of playing a single part, but the bard had never known of the secrets the night held; ancient secrets that the Moor had been digging into for centuries now.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
The Moor had learned much about himself during his time in the Far East, he had seen miracles and madness, peace and pain in equal measure. He carried with him records and secrets that the Primus needed to be aware of, Vladislaus' influence had grown beyond their wildest dreams and his grand experiment was beginning to unearth itself in a myriad of different forms. Lisette would either be pleased or perturbed, perhaps both. But she had bid him to the new world for a purpose, and as such even the Moor would have to bend his will to her in this. Vermillion had been a pleasant distraction, even for the decade he'd spent within its arms. Layla's demesne had been a pleasant home for a wander such as himself, and with both she and Zahrah as a distraction from what he had suffered. Even the strange adventures with Raven and his crew could not deter the Moor from his Oath for long, the Primus had called, and even he who had seen more years than men alive today had seen cycles of the moon, was honorbound to answer.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
The river was calm ahead of them, the sky clear of clouds, even as it was thick with warm air. It seemed as if the Moor could not escape the call of the still waters for to long, the Nile, the Danube, the Thames, the Mississippi, the Yellow, the Rio Grande, and countless others... all seemingly with the same attraction. That same stillness that comes only in things that have lasted for an eternity of years and would last out all the changes wrought by man or beast as time marched onward.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went
. . . down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn
. . . all golden in the sunset.
Silent and still the two ancients sit in quiet companionship, the Moor and the river that he traveled upon. Watching it such concepts of causality, of connectivity seemed to flow easily within the twisting mental wyrms within the kindred's mind. Theories and abstracts twisting, weaving, and conflicting with each other in an ever constant attempt to unlock the potentiality of the existential form... to find the cipher, the key that must be there; hidden perhaps in the secret, still, and silent flow of the veins of the world.
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
Like a heartbeat of a great and eternal beast the riverboat plows it course. Like a figure forged from stone the Moor stands and reflects upon the sense of the moment and it's connection with the infinite, within and without... and the place where both forge a union transcendent.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
[With sincerest respects to Mr. Langston Hughes, Poet and Author - 1902 to 1967]
I've known rivers:
The churning of the great paddle wheel against the turgid waters of the river sound softly through the still humid air of the night. The heartbeat of a great beast as it forges its way along it's course. Shiny down upon the riverboat is a night sky is so thick with stars as to bath the moonless night in shadows deep and thick. A fitting home for Shadows, one such stands quiet upon the prow of the boat, Stetson shaded eyes staring intensely ahead. A dark man in a dark night, skin the color of ebon, and clothes of sable and silver, so unmoving as to be considered a statue.
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow
. . . of human blood in human veins.
The Moor gazed across the river and watched the tree line with the sharp-eyed scrutiny that made those men that had considered drawing down on him think twice, and yet the mask of maudlin thoughtfulness, even in the night's starlight filled darkness, like a candle's flame to the moth of many an intrigued lady. The Moor moved just fractionally at the reflections of the many faces he had had to wear throughout his requiem. Heretic, Heathen, and Hellion... Academic, Adventurer and Antagonist. The bard spoke of playing a single part, but the bard had never known of the secrets the night held; ancient secrets that the Moor had been digging into for centuries now.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
The Moor had learned much about himself during his time in the Far East, he had seen miracles and madness, peace and pain in equal measure. He carried with him records and secrets that the Primus needed to be aware of, Vladislaus' influence had grown beyond their wildest dreams and his grand experiment was beginning to unearth itself in a myriad of different forms. Lisette would either be pleased or perturbed, perhaps both. But she had bid him to the new world for a purpose, and as such even the Moor would have to bend his will to her in this. Vermillion had been a pleasant distraction, even for the decade he'd spent within its arms. Layla's demesne had been a pleasant home for a wander such as himself, and with both she and Zahrah as a distraction from what he had suffered. Even the strange adventures with Raven and his crew could not deter the Moor from his Oath for long, the Primus had called, and even he who had seen more years than men alive today had seen cycles of the moon, was honorbound to answer.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
The river was calm ahead of them, the sky clear of clouds, even as it was thick with warm air. It seemed as if the Moor could not escape the call of the still waters for to long, the Nile, the Danube, the Thames, the Mississippi, the Yellow, the Rio Grande, and countless others... all seemingly with the same attraction. That same stillness that comes only in things that have lasted for an eternity of years and would last out all the changes wrought by man or beast as time marched onward.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went
. . . down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn
. . . all golden in the sunset.
Silent and still the two ancients sit in quiet companionship, the Moor and the river that he traveled upon. Watching it such concepts of causality, of connectivity seemed to flow easily within the twisting mental wyrms within the kindred's mind. Theories and abstracts twisting, weaving, and conflicting with each other in an ever constant attempt to unlock the potentiality of the existential form... to find the cipher, the key that must be there; hidden perhaps in the secret, still, and silent flow of the veins of the world.
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
Like a heartbeat of a great and eternal beast the riverboat plows it course. Like a figure forged from stone the Moor stands and reflects upon the sense of the moment and it's connection with the infinite, within and without... and the place where both forge a union transcendent.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
[With sincerest respects to Mr. Langston Hughes, Poet and Author - 1902 to 1967]