Anastasis
Anastasis
In the land of the dead
Those who seek the oldest of tomes
Find their journey’s end in the eyes:
A look, a Longing, an ephemeral sigh.
For all stories are housed within
The boundless and beating heart of man:
The star of his mind, the fruit of his worth-
Gently tended by the maidens of Urd.
For below all realms, grows an orchard:
A garden of the shadows of Gods.
Fruits of sorrow bloom in the darkness
As Daughters of the Black Sun tend the verge.
What bees pollinate these realms?
Why does the fruit taste like the ashes of sorrow?
Where are the songbirds and wights -
To dance and sing among the barrow?
Through the trees, I spy the Shadows of Giants
The rejected parts of man’s hearts:
His loss, His love, his widowed desires-
Feed on the fruits of death’s Bough.
Silence fills these groves;
Silence so soft that it tortures-
The mind of man wandering
Among the vast tomes of the lost.
For here is the library of the Realms:
All records of deeds fall into this place.
Filled, it is, with terror and dread
Yet the soil is rich in its fertile stead.
For the brave who wander here-
Seeking, with frith, to learn from the past;
Find that death becomes fertile ground
Feeding the hope of a resurrecting heart.
- Christina Marvel
