Daisies, Blood, and Light
LEX TAKHAR
Poetry
The River
The wizard’s child died four winters ago, and still he could not rest,
He gathered ash and whispers both, and swore he’d make them flesh.
He bound the air with silver thread, he called the lost one’s name,
And from the smoke a body formed, alive, but not the same.
He taught it songs, he taught it games, the ones his child had known,
He placed a toy within its hands, to make the past his own.
But when it reached for daisies wild, and smiled at things unseen,
He felt the fault was in its heart, not in the spell between.
Three times he bade it love the doll, the lullaby, the flame,
Three times it turned those gentle things to ruin, cold, and shame.
He sewed the child’s soft joys within the vessel’s hollow core,
But every time it spat them out, he’d suffer this no more.
He sent it to the river’s mouth, to drift where none could claim,
It sank beneath the silver flow, and he bade farewell in shame.
Yet through the frost of winter nights, he swears he hears its name.
And though he’s sworn to bar the door and seal the workshop floor,
At night he dreams of daisies wild, and builds the spell once more.
Last Mile
I see too late that the wand is aimed at me,
I cannot make out the face, I cannot see.
I will not know the hand that brings the blow,
I’ve walked my last mile, I did not know.
I watch the spell arc, carving air with fire,
I feel the world hold still, the moment prior.
I watch it move, unerring, unbent,
I have no time to think, no time to repent.
I brace for the blow, faster than my mind can go.
IT HITS ME
IT HITS ME
IT HITS ME and I am enveloped in a red fog.
It clouds my vision, fills my lungs with flame.
It sparks each nerve, lights my brain like molten wax.
It sears my ears, it bursts the blood behind my eyes.
It pulls my veins, it peels my skin.
IT OPENS. IT OPENS. IT OPENS ME…
The Price
I built a fire to heal the land,
To bring the dawn with mortal hand.
I swore the flame would banish pain,
To make the dark know light again.
And so the cities rose like gold,
Their streets ran bright, their towers bold.
But craving more than dawn could give,
We stoked the fire to make it live.
The night grew tame beneath our reign,
The sun knelt low to hear our name.
But every spark we forced to stay,
Stole warmth from something far away.
Roots turned to wires beneath my feet,
And rivers died beneath the heat.
I saw the signs but turned my head,
And built more suns to burn instead.
Then all went white, then all went black,
The light I made would not turn back.
Now I endure what I began,
A god unmaking his own plan.
I built a fire to heal the land,
And lost the world by my own hand.
Author Bio:
Lex is a 21 year old law and arts student at Macquarie University. He works as a law clerk at LawPartners, and has served as president of Macquarie’s writing society, Writers@MQ, for the past year. He is driven by his desire to create stories and worlds he daydreams about.
