Tourmaline Visions (19)


Her triumph was an angry towering presence,

invading every element,




even fire.

Her patience had finally bore 

diseased and pestilent fruit.

All those long, agonizingly slow centuries,

dwelling in the dirt that was humanity.

Laughing up her sleeve as the guardians kept careful watch.

She could sense their animosity

and their puzzlement as she minced about in human form tending a garden, 

while her unrelenting hatred of this defiled world

and all things in it

grew steadily

like a flame she carefully tended with sticks

sharpened to killing points and dipped in poison.

Riding in the ravens wake she laughed,

causing trees and plants to shrivel beneath her.

Sending her witches vision out before her

searching for that tourmaline shine,

listening for its song that no enchantments could disguise,

knowing well the place it moved toward,

yearned for

and there she would take her revenge

and rip the sky apart.

And this time,

there would be no magic deep enough to ever repair it…




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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