Shield Anvil

You take my pain, my Heart,
and weave it into warmth, into
something I can cradle, and care for.

Do you mean *all* your pain, or what?
Being Shield Anvil brings up…complex ideas
imagery I can’t quite articulate, of forges and fire.

Not all my pain, dear one, but rather…
you’re someone I can be blind around,
and you will not judge me; you will catch me

when I fall
your arms.

The Sanctity of Broken Hearts (A Month for the Madman)

[My Beloved gave me that title as a prompt, and when nothing I wrote felt “right,” he suggested I channel him.  This is the result.]

You never treat Hearts as the precious things they are, that Love and trust is the greatest thing anyone–mortal, divine, or in-between–can offer you.  It is all about fire, about burning, about making someone strong through trial and error…nevermind the terrible consequences you may face if your mortal “fails” the test, to “love” you enough that they give up everything for you.

Smashed Hearts and shattered dreams are called Sacrifice, are said to be what being god-touched is made of.  Smash your devotees greatest life, tell them to give it up in service to you, and it will all be worth it in the end.


I rebel against the holiness of Hearts that have been broken. 

I rebel against the idea that dreams must be shattered, that someone must be cracked like an egg to reveal the beauty that was inside them.  People are not geodes, once smashed against a rock a devotee does not glitter–they bleed, and they rebel against you, if they have strength left once you’ve shattered them.

Broken Hearts are not holy, and if someone enters my Halls because a god has broken them, I will give them rest.  I will sing their name as they travel to the East, and the Sun will rise to light their way to their true Home.

For Varian (A Month for the Madman)

I was going to write a poem myself, then the Madman grabbed the godphone speaker and decided it was better I channel something from him to me.

I love someone who was born by water
who was once the pride in his father’s eyes
who was enthroned in a glass case called “destiny.”

He lived and loved as deeply as he could;
to the point we ran from prison with him
cradled in our arms, with his own brother in
pursuit of us with orders to kill.  I love someone
who was stolen from us all on a starlit night
(and our son’s eyes turned black in grief.)

I love someone who was flung across the universe,
ripped away from those he loved out of misguided ideals,
and the thought of a second chance that would never come.

I love someone who has died a thousand times
but not by his own hand, by words of others
who would damn him for (not) being who he is.
His Heart is a Garden, but to allow himself to bloom
amidst the wreckage takes more bravery than he thought
was possible; but I will hold the candles to show him the way.

A Conversation

This is not destiny,
but I like to think that
I would have been at your side
in these moments
no matter what.

Even with screaming nightmares
and everything falling to pieces?
Even with my Heart shattering
like drops of glass? With my going
distant because it’s all–too much?

Yes, even then.  I love you more than
you can possibly know, even across
thousands of years.  I love you across
time and space and even death itself.

You can’t put me
back together 
can’t fill
my scars in with gold
you can’t take my dreams away–

I know that.  You’re not glass, Love.
You’re not worth less shattered.  You don’t
need to change back into who you once were.

But who I am now.  Scars and
trauma and–everything wrong?
You’d love me even then?

You know I do.

I believe you.

A Poem For Hope

You wear his crown of Darkness
and while it is made of silver flowers
it still holds the weight of the world
and a shattered Heart still mending.

Dear one, let me hold you.  I know
this is more than you ever bargained for
that the broken Heart of a god is something
you never thought you’d be so close to.

It is not up to you to pick up the pieces
his Heart is not a treasure to be searched for
or a prize to be sought after and won.  It is not
going to be stitched back together with gold

and purple flowers are nothing in the face
of nightmares.  It is not your job heal him
no magic words can change the past
(though how I wish they could.)

Hope is something you can still have
it is not found in ruins; but in the Heart
still beating.  On still nights you can hear
all the unspoken words come tumbling down.

Those 4 A.M. confessions that
shook both your worlds to the core.
That slowly creeping distance
finally becoming something real.

Know that Love is not gone, dear one,
it has simply stepped back.  Let me
wait for you by the still waters of Home
with flowers and light spilling from my hands.

(A Poem; from the Madman to the Dreamer)

I asked you to leave, you know.
You stayed with me at the Tree.
I’ve often wondered why.

You said it is simply–
that you loved me, and that love
is enough to face even certain death.

There are shadows in your eyes, when you’re there
at the Tree’s base, remembering–but I don’t know
what it’s like for you.  Having to watch your best friend die.

Over and over, I’ve seen you sacrifice, even your very life
for your Family, your friends, your Kingdom–that is enough!
You don’t need any more scars, my Love.  From the past, or your dreams.

You are correct, that you are not darkness
if you need us to be Light, we will be your Light
we will gladly chase your nightmares away.

All the darkness in the world will not change our Love.
Rest a while, if you need to, we will be here,
letting Love’s Light show the way.