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BastionKnight
76 86,339 M Marching Ahead 3
PathStep 1,198 Compassion hearts17,561 Forum posts393 Forum upvotes782 Current upvotes782 Age GroupAdult Last activeFebruary, 2025 Member sinceAugust 19, 2017
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If you are unable to be anything else, be kind; it costs you nothing, but it means everything to someone else.


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Hollow
Poetry / by BastionKnight
Last post
 1 day ago
...See more (TW- The subject matter touches on difficult themes). It is long, but I hope you find it worth the read. Deep within the forest a cottage slumped against a tree. Smoke curling weakly from the crumbling tumble-stone chimney. The sagging moss-clad thatch supported on groaning warped beams A desolate home that long ago said goodbye to dreams. The all-pervasive charcoal scent. Its timbers groan in discontent, The rafters bowed, the lintel bent. A place where others rarely went. Or that is how it seems.   Within that drafty hovel dwelt a father and his child. A daughter, fair in form and thought, and in her manner mild. The mother now a memory from many moons ago. In her ghostly shadow the little girl was forced to grow. Her father gnarled and carved from oak, And like the turf-kiln that he'd stoke, The smouldering flame he would choke. For certain things were never spoke, of what went on below.   Near the door, her father's axe propped against the fireplace. Upon his creaking chair he rocks, the axe's hunger braced. Heavy head with razor edge on a shaft of seasoned ash. Unfeeling tool of blackened steel, merciless as the lash. Beneath a window crossed with lead, A sackcloth mattress for her bed. The stale straw smell of mouldered bread. A childhood halted and instead thrown on by fate's blind thrash.   Each day before dawn awoke, the woodsman left in the dark To hew the trunks condemned to die, breaking limbs stripped of bark. The little girl, left alone, mindful to complete her chores: Gather eggs and milk the goat, clean the pots and sweep the floors, Separate the curds from the whey, Soap and scrub clothing's stains away, No idle moment left for play, Keeping house the entire day, till his boots are back indoors.   One morning bright when dappled light bled through the canopy The air grew soft with the droning flight of the bumblebee. With a basket clasped in her arms she set out from her home, And dancing freely in the green her feet began to roam. Gathering mushrooms she did sing. The herbs she plucked as fresh as spring, Yet did not spot the toadstool ring. The threshold crossed; she stepped within a copse on mossy loam.   All at once the golden sunlight flooded into her soul Filling up the hairline cracks, smoothing out and making whole. Bluebells kissed her open palms and she knew she was adored. Imagination soaring high and innocence restored. A village of her own depicts Buildings of stones and pebble 'bricks' And peopled them with folk of sticks. Their lives and loves and happy tricks all in perfect accord.   Watching from the arching bough cloaked in leaves and morning dew, The fairy grinned with famished mirth, leaning out limbs askew. Around the child, the sweetest haze formed from naivety. Shining with fae inspired subtle wild creativity. Thus, heedlessly the girl played on Enchanted with a silent song, Unwittingly was fed upon. Yet ever did it nudge along her spirit floating free.   At the turning of the day and the failing of the light, Awaking from her game, surrounded by encroaching night. Led on by wisps through twisted roots and branches homeward bound, But on return the cottage was in total darkness found. The door, it opened with a groan The unseen chair let out a moan A crunching grind of knucklebone And then that broken baritone, an icy anger sound.   Where had she been till so late? An answer was demanded, Wilfully ignoring what had father had commanded! As candles lit, in his strong grasp she saw her broken toys. She'd learn the cost of dalliance with feckless village boys! Intimidated by his frame, He called her by her mother's name. Subdued with guilt that held no blame, Yet flinching backwards just the same as startled by the noise.   So, from that night the potent fright had left the child subdued. As they resumed the numbing toil, the stagnant peace renewed. Soon returned the daydreams lure of idle thoughts unbidden, Powerless to fend them off as if by night-hag ridden. Back daily to the glade she'd stride, And to the twig-jacks there confide. Suspicious that his daughter lied, One morning on the cottage spied from the tree line, hidden.   Like the fawn, into the woods unguarded she did frolic. Imagining pastoral scenes both blissful and bucolic. The paradise she'd made with love to help her playmates thrive Was peopled not with inert sticks, but things that were alive! Marvelled at their brittle dances, Mimicked their heroic stances, Sharing with them happy glances. Unknowing what fast advances, and all too soon arrive.   Upon approach her father's temper turned to bitter rage. No feeble plea could stop his wrath, nor protest could assuage. Her frail constructions kicked and crushed. Twigs snapped beneath his heels. He swung the axe in violent arcs, deaf to his child's appeals. Each tree that stood as sentinel, The axe bit deep until it fell. Every thud a final knell. Then with an open-fisted yell, two sharp blows raising weals.   Like rabid bear back to its lair his wretched child he dragged. Within the timbered mildewed walls, in misery she sagged. Pointing with his sneering axe, pacing back and forth he swirled. Suggesting without saying that she'd join the adult world. When sun acquiesced to night's dome They knew not they were not alone. The fairy stalked them to their home And peeling from the shadowed gloam, vengeance to be unfurled.   It crept inside breaching through the walls of wattled plaster And lay a curse upon the axe to betray its master. Upon the sleeping weeping child it wove a glamour charm, To henceforth know only bliss and no longer seeing harm. One would discover when they woke The cost of crossing the Good Folk. A prank that is no idle joke. The wasps nest you should never poke or else forfeit the arm.   The next morn the woodsman left but by dusk had not returned. Fading rays gave way to gloom yet the girl was not concerned, For she held court in her manse with a host of tiny guests. Their bodies healed to new-growth sprigs, fresh lichen at their chests. The Fae that craft them from the briar, Now clad in its moonlight attire, Engulfed the room in faint foxfire. Its voice a lilting honey lyre accompanied their jests.   So it was that five times more the moon chased away the sun. Playing with vernal elan what the fairy had begun. Twig-jacks followed in her wake, bringing gifts and combing hair, All beneath its unblinking, never flinching, sleepless stare. Each time upon the witching hour, Presaged by scent of elderflower, The room transformed by fey power. Rafters morphed to bridle-bower where stood a wild night-mare.   And like a kit nestles in the comfort of its drey, Unnoticed and un-noted went her father's own delay. The woodsman he had left in haste still angry at his daughter. Hands clenching as he dwelt on the lesson he had taught her. A madness overcame his sense, Aggrieved by the perceived offence. The axe-shaft in his hands felt tense. His blood demanded recompense, marking trees for slaughter.   Drunk upon a lust unearthly sunk deep behind his eyes, He lurched toward a willow tree to cut it down to size. Splintering, the trunk collapsed like it were a rotten hulk. Falling on the woodsman's leg, trapping him beneath its bulk. In his agony left howling. Crushing fracture, blood soon fouling. Thirsty screams then strangled yowling. Fever as a wolf came prowling and slowly round him skulk.   Shivering in pain and shock and fading from exposure, Reluctantly he raised the axe, gasping for composure. Hysterically, with crunching strikes, the broken limb he hacked. Then cried in desperation as the faithless handle cracked. His trembling hand the head did clasp Resuming that most morbid task Frenzied bludgeon butchering fast Till with a final tortured gasp the fleshy mooring snapped.   Tottering on hands and knees through hostile ground he scrambled Till the cottage hove in sight and to the door he shambled. Behind him a bloodied trail, as across the stoop he crawled, Writhing stricken to his bed and suffering there he sprawled. He cried out to his child for aid. She answered not, just gently swayed, Nor any movement to him made. Flailing faintly where he was splayed and for swift succour called.   Gradually pleading groans softened slowly into silence, Replaced by the sickly-sweet putrid smell of violence. For the glamour had forbade evil she could not perceive, Living in the Fae created endless realm of make-believe. Just for her it made this palace From aurora borealis. Blind and deaf to mortal malice. Drinking from an empty chalice, and empty plates receive.   In the depths of snowy winter close to the cusp of Yule, With no sign of the woodsman or his goods of needed fuel, The villagers sent a party off to investigate, Trudging out to the cottage, found it in a sorry state. Door hung loosely, hinges broken, To the elements was open. A vile stench that did betoken Those who could not be awoken, for they had come too late.   Stains of gore leading to a corpse by predators defiled, Another by the window, an emaciated child. One body told a story of a torment so obscene, But the girl by comparison might almost seem serene. In perished clothes and ivy dressed Arms clutched tightly across her breast A doll of twigs there firmly pressed No more to grow to be her best nor see what might have been.   Their frosted breath hung as a haze in the still, doleful air. Reverential pity reigned holding hands with hushed despair. Outside echoed the callous lament of a cawing rook. Turning to leave they spied a heap stashed in a cluttered nook; A box they found, the lid they pried And saw something was hid inside That left those stout folk horrified. Through anguished tears they softly sighed by candle, bell and book.   From the eaves a white fox flees blending with the frozen ground. Lost in trees, a shrill bark echoes. An eldritch laughing sound. First flakes from a blizzard fall warning of impending snow. Sunset scattered on the drifts drowning all in sanguine glow. They pondered in unsettled gloom Her tiny life cut short too soon To unsaid thought they did attune, A mercy that this little bloom had left this place of woe.
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Visiting the Cage
Poetry / by BastionKnight
Last post
 February 14th
...See more Dark lighting rips the air and bathes the land like a negative. Trudging through the hurricane that whips nerves raw and sensitive. Flensing wind scours this frozen waste, Grit tearing the last tear from the eye. Before ragged ruin abased, Hoarfrost claims its bones, so brittle dry. In blackness, sensing his approach It writhes against the biting chains. Venomous ichor in its veins, Devoid of guilt or self-reproach. Descend the labyrinthine depths to a bare chthonic floor. Step inside the vaulted cell, bereft of bars and with no door. Swamped in shadows his light gutters, Resist the urge to step back aghast. Looming leer, it madly mutters. "I came to check that your bonds hold fast" "Liar!" snaps a sharp snarling growl. "Your scent reeks of what's kept inside. Behind your pretty manners hide." Its laugh a manic bestial howl. Those fever yellow mismatched eyes that matt the fur with bile tears, That open-throated drooling maw, a glutton's gut stuffed with fears. Staring down that wretched creature, Its hulking form more shadow than flesh. "Do not presume you're the teacher My will restores my resolve afresh" "Liar!" It whispers sickly sweet, Its frenzied foetid breath, slick smog, Its sweat a greasy caustic fog. "Deny envy, embrace deceit" Manacled and bound in place, its slather coated words goaded. Lascivious sybarite, stained and tainted and corroded. Turning to leave there in disgust Secure that it is still locked away Escape its cloying poison musth, And yet still pauses to hear it say; "Liar, you are devoid of guile, For I can see what's in your heart. Each hidden sin you tear apart Concealed behind that painted smile." Knuckles white and breathing shallow, conscience screaming to ignore. But pride is hurt and self doubt grows infected by anger's spore. His hands grip tightly round its throat Loathing every spiteful sound it spoke. Evil tormentor shall be smote. He squeezes hard then starts to choke. "Must we always play this sad game? You leave me bound here forgotten Till you require something rotten. In mirrors we are both the same." Retreating gasping, fighting free, heading back towards the light. Behind, the wailing laughter screams, sapping will and draining might Demanding freedom from that hole. Shouting secrets in a toxic song. Its sick temptation burns the soul. Those chains still hold it but for how long?
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Impossible Dream
Poetry / by BastionKnight
Last post
 February 3rd
...See more Oh to travel to the forest where so many nights I've been. Chasing through that wilding wyrd wood, searching for the great Qilin. Her pelt bejewelled with starlight gems, Her antlers sign sagacity. The flowers bend their very stems To honour all her majesty. Such beauty formed from inner glow shines with all that's pure and good, Blinds and binds my pining heart as in the haloed mist she stood. Running, racing, madly pacing, hoping, yearning 'two be one'. Slowly facing sweet surrender. Meet your eyes and I'm undone. Heel to haunch in supplication, As deep inside a passion roars. A soul proffered as libation In every single way, I'm yours. Knowing that each night we part makes moments met such agony. Dreams are cruel but crueller still, remaining ever fantasy. Wishing is the silent hope that dares defy what's known forlorn, Craving that which brings such bliss, and learns to hate the waking dawn. Noble creature let me catch you, And let our essence interlace, Leave all thoughts of what we can't do Stand hand in hand and face to face. 'twould taste a lie to accept a fate comprised of 'never be'. Beseeching now with open arms, just one touch shall set me free. Echoes of a snapping branch, all at once the spell is broken, The edges bleed, contours fade, yet I fight to not be woken. With dancing grace she takes to wing, Fleeing where I cannot follow. I'm punctured by a savage sting, Left bereft, scooped out and hollow. Biting back internal screams, frustrated tears that turn to streams. A fair price paid to taste perfection, borne aloft, born in dreams.  (I do not own the above image)
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Yokai
Poetry / by BastionKnight
Last post
 January 23rd
...See more Skin of scintillating scales that mantle a lithesome frame. Prismatic scutes adorn its hide in colours with no name. A mane of iridescent flame from nape, along the spine. Graceful claws on dexterous paws in silvered ivory shine. Diaphanous sharp spined fins Ride the tail behind the wings. Majesty in all its limbs. The crown, a crest of rugged horns. The fanged filled jaws sublime. Long flowing whiskers, golden eyes, the symbols of its reign. It hears the call, it flies again.   Unbound it leaps from cloud to cloud then plunges to the sea Then rising, rides the foamy swells that greet the estuary. Thrashing coils the flow become, within river current glides. Invisibly beneath the calm, silently upstream slides. Till river meets sewer spill, Clambering a concrete hill Into air both stale and still. From darkened windscreen, puddles gaze, and building's mirrored sides, Swimming in reflections fast, unheard, unfelt, and yet not free. Its perfumed passing, feathery.   When empty rooms grew vast and void with you alone inside, It wrapped around you, filled the space, and soothed you as you cried. When love's sweet flower grew sick and sour, tears would not end, It lent its heart until yours healed, and slowly helped it mend. When pain was sharp, it was there. When bullies strike, its teeth bare. When hurt or scared, it will care. Standing vigil as you begged agony and grief to end. It listened to the hated secrets that shame makes you hide Whispering to restore your pride.   How can I say this thing exists with such strong conviction. What makes me sure this is more than just a pleasant fiction. They once were more in times before our doubt pulled down a veil Till one by one their time was done, reduced to fairy-tale. Yet I know that one remains Standing guard to fight the banes. Tearing at our hidden chains. So, if you ever come across a strange pearlescent scale, Dare to let yourself dream in the face of contradiction. For hope is a kind affliction.
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Ballad of the Unsaid
Poetry / by BastionKnight
Last post
 January 10th
...See more Once more to shore by rotted oar The prow beached at that knotted coast. The threshold of an unseen door. And drifting like an unclean ghost. White crested waves with frenzied force Dashed on the jagged envied cliffs. Their passion spent without remorse. No aching heart could doubt their kiss. Each swell pulls with receding heave, As if to grasp and pleading say "Stay-stay, stay-stay, do not tempt grief, That lies along the unkempt way". Deaf to reason and heeding not. Proceeding, needing, speeding on. A mansion formed from dreams forgot A place that seems that screams belong. The only haunting howls therein, Comes not from some dark, prowling beast. Unconscious craving under skin From fragment hopes and wonder pieced. And languid on a thorny throne, The Sluagh prince in tawny cloak. With Midnight eyes in hollow bone, And frame dissolving as though smoke. He points. The bloom converts from weeds, So bright the light, it hurts to see. Clutched by the glove-clad zealous needs And wrapped in love-mad jealousy. Thus sitting hunched with cradled light, And lost within that fabled sleep. To only fear the ending night, And fiercer loss impending deep. Such happiness feels undeserved, A devotee that kneels in awe Affection given unreserved. A wish to live in, wanting more. 
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Appreciation of Unsung Legends
Poetry / by BastionKnight
Last post
 February 6th
...See more Just a little rhyme as a thank you to some excellent people (@Innatejoy, @SolitaryBird, @blueLemon, @Tinywhisper11, @azurepond, @withpeACE, @TheSunisUpTheSkyisBlue, @halcyonCloud), as perhaps they are not acknowledged as often as they deserve. There are many more awesome people out there too, but my little brain can only scrabble together so many lines before it turns to scrambled jelly. A secret wood that maybe you pass through; Serenity and innate joy its grace. For there the Sun is up, the sky is blue, Across which a halcyon cloud might race, Ever changing, as on the zephyr blew. Nestled beneath the canopy's embrace, A reed cloaked azure pond, bejewelled with dew, Pristine mirror of celestial face. The wind, with tiny whisper calls to you. Here each fear may you now with peace replace. Enchanted beyond wildest dreams this view; A blue lemon would not seem out of place In this den of singing ash, oak, and yew, And sunlit cobwebs dance like liquid lace. A solitary bird sits watching you Which calms the heart to a sedentary pace.
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Lesson learned
Poetry / by BastionKnight
Last post
 December 31st, 2024
...See more Heave the weighty coat of chain, Don the breastplate's breathless chest. Straps of leather taught with strain. Begloved hands in gauntlets pressed. Slam the visor, seal me in. Steel become my second skin. Raise the ramparts squat and thick; Crenellations, Parapets. Shrink the world to arrow-slits. Bury deep the oubliettes. Raise the drawbridge, flood the moat. Gorget round this castle's throat. Build upon the mountain bluff. Hew the fort from living rock. Smash the path to rubbled rough. Bar each door and seal each lock. Lower pennants, let them lie, And look away from the sky. It was unwise to ride out, To roam without armour on, From the strong secure redoubt, Learn too late, what's done is done. Under stone and iron hide, Never venture back outside.
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(Not yet named)
Poetry / by BastionKnight
Last post
 December 31st, 2024
...See more I did not know that I was suffocating Until in you swept and were the air. Nor could I pinpoint what was sorely missing, 'til with your absence, it was not there. An ache that's filling every last part of me. How insistently it permeates. Unbidden surrender given willingly, As self into want melts then conflates. A hunger that knows no end, fed by the feast. Each second of bliss fuelling desire. The thirst that drives to madness the drowning beast In the flames of unquenchable fire.
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