Cinderspell

A young man sits in his palace
Strong, proud, and dark.
He will rule soon o’er all the lands.
But now and here
He must choose a bride.
His father wills that he would wed
From far off.
The advisers wish he would
Choose one of their daughters.
But he cares not for that.
For nearby there lives
A pretty orphan heiress
With beauty greater than the mountains
‘Round about his home.

But her beauty is nothing to him
For she is as dangerous
As lovely.
Though barely of age
She guides her servants
With wisdom and strength
Her gentleness belies
Every core of the land.
Despite her stepmother’s strong hand
She flourishes.
She cannot be left alone.

So a ball is arranged
For all the ladies of the land.
A girl from far off,
To please his father.
The highborn butterflies
For the sake of the advisers.
And her.
She stands strong and proud
A dress of blue and purple
Like the sky and clouds
Only accentuates her charm.
Her neckline is made of winged creatures
Not butterflies, but dragons
Beautiful, but deadly.

The act of loving her was easy
Too easy.
The prince almost frowns as they twirl
Like birds in an endless dance.
As they steal away together,
He is almost gentle
As he returns her clutch
To her white, slender hand.
Does her spell
Cast a blight on his mind?

As midnight approaches
She dashes away
Leaving behind naught but a slipper
Even as he touches it
He feels her magic coursing
Through his veins.
He cannot fight it
He must find her.
She will be his.

As he rides to her home
Dragons flit around his head.
They settle on slender boughs
Examining his spell-covered eyes
With their own slanted ones.
They are tiny, the deadly pests,
But they are beautiful.
Dark blues, golden hues
Blood red, green as the hills.
Everywhere he turns,
There is the fatal beauty
Of the charming girl.

None but the stepmother
Answers the door
Claiming the girl is not there.
But he breaks past,
Rebuking her strongly.
But as he happens to pass
A clear voice
 Strong and enchanting.
At the head of the stairs
Stands a dragon
Taller than he
With scales of shimmering blue.
Her wings are furled ‘round her.
And she descends in gracious glory.

There was no fairy godmother
No magic spell.
For the devious stepmother
Had enslaved a dragon
Of the highest order.
She could not flee
Nor could she retaliate
But she used her superior charm
And deadly beauty
To spread word of her capture.

Finally the prince had rescued her
By his cold invitation.
And now she was clothed
In her former glory.
And now the dark prince
Has wed his deadly, yet gentle bride.
And so their tale was cloaked
 In gentleness and prosperity
The dark prince and his dragon bride.

The Tale of Albadon

There was a king of Albadon
Who was so strong and fierce.
He ruled over his people
With a strong and mighty hand.
His realm was feared across the land
For all its power, might!
But the last king of Albadon
Fell to the sword.

But Albadon still was a land
Of power, glory, might.
And now there rose a queene
Who was so fair and proud.
Her beauty was acclaimed
Across the worlds and lands!
But the last queene of Albadon
Fell to her pride.

So Albadon had fallen
There was no ruler there.
There came a time in which
Chaos ruled the land,
It seemed that all was lost.
Albadon would die.
Order was brought at last
But it was false and feared.

Finally there rose a child
Who was acclaimed as Queene.
But she feared for her life so long
For she was little loved.
So when her lover died
The child ran away.
And Albadon at last
Faded into mist.

Times and times passed
And Albadon grew tired.
But suddenly a warrior
Stood forth from the rest.
She led her people into war
To save them from the mist.
And no blood of Albadon
Was shed that day but hers.

There was a Queene of Albadon
Who was fair and strong.
She ruled o’er her people
With a loving hand of power.

And so the tale of Albadon
Is closed like this:
Be like the warrior,
Not the Queen,
The king ,
Or the child.

A Love Story

A tiny little world,

Formed with just a word.

Forms made out of dust,

Their breath just a fraction

Of the One who created them.

Glorious perfection surrounded them,

On a world made for their delight.

But they scorned it,

Wishing instead for power of their own.

They got their power,

But with it came a price,

As does every sin.

Perfection was theirs no longer;

Pain now marked their path.

A living death was theirs,

But still there was One,

Who loved them, despite their scorn.

Their idolatry was their pain

And their lover.

But the Almighty who created them

Did not forget them.

In His love, He sent His Son,

His only Son, slain from the foundation of the earth.

Out of love for the beings of dust,

The Son died a painful death,

The perfect sacrifice for the world.

The Creator turned His face away,

From His beloved son.

Their sins were covered,

But those who knew the Son mourned,

For He was dead and in the grave,

Death had won at last,

Or so it seemed to their finite minds.

But the third day arrived, and with it a defeat.

As foretold from before the foundation.

Death was defeated at last,

And the scars of generations of painful lust

Could be washed away under the blood

Of the One slain from the foundation of the world.

But some refused the gift;

Others took it lightly,

Thinking they were fine alone.

But the Son ascended into heaven,

Leaving men to spread the news,

While He prepared a place for those who loved Him.

When their time in sin-soaked flesh was through,

They would be welcomed,

Under the Son’s righteousness

Into the presence of the Almighty.

But They did not leave those faithful few alone.

The Spirit came to guide and protect them.

The divine Protector, holy and just,

And triune with the Creator and the Son.

He lives inside each one who is fired

By the good news that has been told,

Empowering them to spread the Word everywhere.

The Son, having come once in peace,

Will return again.

This time, however, He will wage war on those

Who have seduced and hurt His people.

Death has been defeated, but on this day

He will fall, and those who worshiped him

Will fall as well, never knowing their Creator’s grace.

But the faithful will come

To the places the Son prepared for them.

May it be said to all of them,

“Well done, good and faithful servant.”

As they enter into perfection.

The marriage supper of the Lamb will come

And there will be sin no more.

But those days in which the Son returns,

Have not yet come.

So go, spread the news He has burdened us with.

For we are His faithful,

And His fire will not burn against us.

The enemy can do nothing to harm us,

But we must pull the others away from the cliff

That gives way to the fire of the Creator’s wrath.