#enchanted journal

“Good afternoon to thee, fair journal. I fear a lot does weigh upon my mind this day. Dreadful revelations hath unraveled betwixt the magical fellow and the good lady. ‘tis something regarding her lord father. I know not what to do, nor what to say...so instead I do suppose I shall ‘write’ in thee, fair journal. It does always ease my mind. A sonnet, I think...indeed, indeed. A sonnet it shall be.

And who shall bare the blame? ‘I,’ said the swan,

With fire and flame. I shall bare the blame.’

Where wicked deeds die, guilt goes on and on,

Even if no one dares to speak their name.

Doth he find at the bottom of the stein,

Some numb relief - a blackness like the sea?

So dark and deep that e’erything seems fine,

‘til the morning sun dries the drunken glee?

I know well the horrors of life and mind,

I know of rust, of loss, of lust, of blood,

Then why now do my lips falter to find,

The words that ought describe my friend’s ill flood?

‘tis said the swan sings not until he dies,

“‘twas in a moment the bottle shattered,

Followed by the world and all that I knew,

Last to leave the mind was all that mattered,

And in that void, these rhymes and nonsense grew.

Yet also in that void, that fog, that haze,

A lady came to me from out the blue,

Said, “Claudelin, I’m here with you always.”

Said, “Claudelin, you can begin anew.”

And in her arms a babe to me she brought,

And in her belly another to come,

And in her eyes, a lesson to me taught:

A new day begins with each rising sun.

This second chance I’ll never understand,

“Can goodness be measured as fathoms can,

Can kindness be quantified just as leagues?

Can one sift the heart like gold with a pan,

To uncover any plots or intrigues?

If it be so then keep thy crafty tools,

I need no such compass, ruler, or scale.

I know my lady’s heart is made of jewels,

And her goodness can overflow a grail.

I know she does not see it. She did not see,

Much at all ‘til late. But how I treasure,

The happiness her heart has given me,

It is in her smile, her goodness I measure.

Give me her hand and a meadow shady,

Therein lies the goodness of the good lady.”