Happy trails to you until we bleed again

Happy trails to you until we bleed again,

The blood that spills in future times means that ones path will end,

But for now we go our separate ways, not enemies, nor friends,

So happy trails to you until the blood will flow again.

Happy trails to you,

It's the only way you see,

For one must lose their life to keep their human dignity.

Until we bleed again,

A truce between us two,

But if one should break their promise,

What could the other do?

So go along your happy trail,

And when you reach the end,

I will be there, I'll be waiting,

And we can begin again.

Whether we clash with knives and swords,

or weapons made of lead and steel,

One will fall on blood-stained grounds,

With wounds that shall never heal.

So leave my sight, for if I could,

I would forget your name,

But one will fall by a final blow,

And neither one will be the same.

This war has gone for so long now,

I've wondered why we fight,

But I remember our gruesome past,

And I know I'm doing right.

So as I said before,

There's a happy trail for you,

Until the blood falls from one's neck,

But for now, I bid adieu.

Copyright September 29, 2014 by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

Be Brave

When words are flowing,

Do not stop them,

But think before you say,

For some words lurk there, waiting, hoping,

For a chance to run away.

When life is hard,

Stay and face it,

But know what you can be,

For when the silver lining shines,

will you be there to see?

When people laugh at you,

Do not hide,

But stand up brave and tall,

For those who face humiliation,

Are the bravest ones of all.

If people press you to do something,

That you don't want to,

And they will know,

Be brave for standing up to them,

It's your choice whether to go.

So say your thoughts, but carefully place your words.

Do not run from hard tasks when they're at hand,

Rather, face the people laughing at your mistakes,

Instead of following others, take your own stand.

Copyright September 22, 2014, by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

Sondalor's poem

Sondalor is a dragon in one of my books. His past forms his future into a living nightmare as he comes closer and closer to the brink of insanity. In this poem he voices his thoughts about the power of words and allows the reader to grasp a hint of why he is going crazy.

Sticks and stones may break my bones,

Words leave scars that never heal,

Pictures tear your life apart,

and memories are made of steel.

Paper claws and fangs of ink

Tear your heart and leave a hole,

Making nightmares from your dreams,

Emptying a hope-filled soul.

Where is there to find a place

From glaring eyes and hateful words?

For though the blood may wash away,

The words can never be unheard.

Copyright September 22, 2014 by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

Living Stories

Wispy clouds of mist swimming through my fingers,

Drops of rain hang from branches over my head,

A soft wet field of grass beneath my bare feet,

A sheet of smooth, soft silk for my bed.

In my imagination, my stories come alive.

I fly with dragons and elves through every day.

I laugh and talk with angels and birds of fire,

And while racing giants, reality feels far away.

I listen to all of their stories and tales,

I never forget a feather or scale,

For I gave them their stories, I gave them a life,

And they dance with me joyfully all day and night.

When reality calls me, we cry together,

For here in this world we are sister and brother,

In my world, no one judges you by your size,

What clothes you wear, the color of your eyes,

For giants are large, and fairies are small,

as for dragons-why, they don't need clothes at all!

Who cares if you have one eye or two eyes or four,

You can still see, after all, that's what eyes are for.

In the real world, first they look at your face.

If your hair is a mess, you must be a disgrace.

Then your shirt, shoes, pants, arms and then hands,

And if you're ugly to them, things won't go as you planned.

Then, if you look fine, they check if you're smart.

Almost the last thing they check is what's in your heart.

I've been judged by the way that i think.

To some, I'm a genius, to others, a freak.

I know that I'm different, I know that I'm strange,

But why would I want any of that to change?

I'm beautiful from what I see,

That's confidence, not vanity.

But I don't think of these things on my own,

With my fantasy friends, I'm never alone.

Copyright September 18, 2014 by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author. (That would be me.)

Ghosts

Names remain but faces gone

Like ships lost out at sea.

I wonder if I am a ghost to them,

Like they are a ghost to me.

Faces there without a name

Inside my memory,

I wonder if I am a ghost to them,

Like they are a ghost to me.

People from my past are there,

Somewhere.

They visit me inside my dreams.

Though distant in my mind, I know they're there.

Somewhere.

They wait for me.

Copyright September 15, 2014 by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

The mirror

I passed my mirror on the wall,

It stood so proud and strong and tall.

And as I watched, it spoke to me,

"Child, what do you think of me?"

The mirror took me by surprise,

And as I stared in my own eyes,

I said, a little shakily,

"Mirror, what do you wish to be?"

The mirror said, "I wish that I

Could travel under the big blue sky,

and see everything there is to see,

And that is all I wish to be."

I pressed my palm on his design,

And said, "You suit our house just fine.

But mirror, could you please tell me,

when I grow up, what will I be?"

My reflection smiled wide,

A little gleam inside my eye.

"You will be just who you are,

A beautiful girl, a shining star,

But persevere, and do not bend,

Lest your dreams come to an end."

I told him, "You speak such strange words,

How can you know what you've never heard?"

My friend, the mirror, winked at me.

"One day, maybe, you will see."

Copyright September 8, 2014 by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

(Note from author: This is not because I don't like you people, it's only because there are not-so-nice people on the internet who would love to steal my ideas.)

Scattered thoughts: Skies

Where I live, the sky shines bright and blue all day long.

Where I live, clouds are mere wisps of white that float like feathers, swift and light.

But now winter is coming, and large, billowing capes of clouds spread across the sky,

but I don't mind.

If you look hard enough, you can see the tears in the fabric of floating rain.

If you climb a mountain, you can see the light shining through the gaps,

like God's fingers stretching from heaven.

I remember when the skies were so big and full,

I would lay in the grass and just gaze at the heavens,

and the sky looked like a giant bowl placed over the earth.

Where I live, the sun beats down with nothing to hide the glare from the cracked and dusty ground.

Cars that should have gleamed stand dry and dusty in the parking lots.

That's why I don't mind when the clouds arrive,

and the giant ball of light that floats in the air  is veiled.

That's why when the rain falls in sheets,

and the thunder is roaring,

and bolts of lightning fall to the ground,

I smile.

Copyright September 4, 2014 by Christina Gatchel This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.