The Iceveldt Chronicles


Iceveldt ~

As soon as I woke I felt the change in the air
all softness
all gentle warmth gone
I recall the ancient ones had names for the frigid winds
that whirl up unannounced and paint your voice and nose and eyes with a brush of frost
The deck was quiet but for their sighing 
swirling relentlessly looking for any opening to nestle in
to claim and build their nests of coldest crystal
the sky was the color of polar nightfall
while the red flameflowers glowed in the icebed far below
after so long in the air you forget what standing firm feels like 
but I know I once ran up and down those mountains
collecting blossoms in a basket 
years and miles and a maelstrom of memories ago
nothing living walks there now…
and I looked over the edge
at the plants which grow and bloom and die all within a single passing of the strange and distant sun
picturing that moment when the star bursts its bonds and burns out in fierce hot joy
and the twilight deepens into endless ebony
what will the mountains look like when they can’t be seen?
and how long will the winds howl before freezing solid?
Deep thoughts on so fair a morning
as I sail past…

Iceveldt II ~
We broke the skies and the debris broke the mountains 
showering ice and sleet and frosted mist down into the valleys
and waters
the view for miles a swirl of eye stinging vapor
hanging like a boiling cauldrons wreath
The fortunate few took to the air and looked back one last time in anguish
but the tumult left no time to linger
as the living and the soon dead sank out of sight
leaving only imprints sealed in stone
and the ancient ones raised such a song of lament
that it echoes still through the cliffs
for we all knew who was responsible
we knew who broke the sky
and that this was only a brief respite before the final sundering
The cold mounts creeping inch by inch across the few places where warmth and life and greenness gather
soon even the echo of the laments will end
smothered by the blankets of frost 
or worse
taken by the Dread Ones who 
soulless and lifeless
rose from the agony of our careless apocalypse
to reign in this alien landscape
Deep thoughts on so fair a morning
as I sail past…
Iceveldt III – The Rise of the Dread Ones ~
The Dread Ones rose from the smoke and steam of a shattered world 
our own madness
our own arrogance
broke the laws of nature and gods and severed the bindings
which held the planet together 
and sent it spinning on a collision course with the end of all days
At first they were nothing but rumor and fearful whispers
a product of trauma 
of nightmares
and who was without nightmares in those first months?
even when awake the horror was never far away
always close enough to
brush with a frigid claw
But their touch went beyond freezing and no tales came back
of those who were taken
were they enslaved? slaughtered?
were they…
the cavern of silence ran deep as any ocean and held it’s secrets tightly
At first we fought
still arrogant even in our beaten brokenness
but no weapons work on the unstoppable
the unkillable
the unhuman
With no fear of death or man or fire or water
they rolled over us like a river in a flash flood
we fled back to the skies
and gave the firm land up as lost
as were our souls
Deep thoughts on so fair a morning
as I sail past…
Iceveldt IV – The Breaking ~
My memories are standing much too close
as I drift past the scars of cities
nudged out of slumber the scents and sounds and times rise and I fight to keep
them hidden 
to keep them behind an iron gate
for the sake of my sanity they are allowed to visit only in dreams
bringing excitement like champagne fizzing in our veins
bringing the scent of flowers 
When we conquered the air there was great rejoicing 
we thought that victory was our due 
that love and warmth and happiness came guaranteed 
we thought that time was a friend and that it’s golden thread was spun for our enjoyment
and in our control
Control was the last delusion we were in
we scorched that thread with the dumb viciousness
of a monster who knows nothing but hunger
searching and finding enemies in every direction
when all along the thing we should have feared most
was inside ourselves
hatred? arrogance? 
a dark desire for that last step into the abyss?
We will never know
the ancient ones warned us against the waking of a nameless fear
we should have listened…
we should have known
Deep thoughts on so fair a morning
as I sail past…
Iceveldt V – Golden Moments ~
It was the gold of the lamps that I remember best
their lambent light glowing in the soft air
and the gold of the setting sunstars reflecting on the warm stones
of the Great Hall of the Ancients
even the parapets looked drizzled with honey
We gathered 
in that time of Song and rejoicing 
to take our place with the clouds and mountaintops and stars
and there seemed to be no more obstacles
no end to our triumphs
and I weep a little for those golden moments
rising like bubbles in the crystal wine flutes we raised
and just as fragile
Deep thoughts on so fair a morning
as I sail past…
Iceveldt VI – The Citadel ~

In isolation a tower rose
snow blanketed
guilt driven
denial cementing the foundations
the lonely citadel ringed in impassable mountains and desperate secrecy
a last hope
a last stand
a last futile punch aimed at the inevitable
as the living gathered their knowledge and meager resources
to scratch tirelessly in the dirt
to unearth a solution
the scribes and scientists huddled in knots
reviewed and revisited the ancient texts again and again
and once again
but in the end defiance withered 
the final pages were blotted and the last lament rose
clear and winged like a sparrow
rising into the fading light
singing softly over and over the songs which held our story
holding hands through the long night 
until the closing note
the mountains fell silent for even the wind had bowed 
to that slowing moment 
as the world gathered in one last breath

and stopped

the eternal twilight began
deep thoughts
deep thoughts
dark thoughts carried forever
sailing forever






About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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