Some of the most commonly used
terms in fantasy literature involve shade: shadow, black, darkness. The
follow-ups are equally dire: war, blood, death.
I suspect this speaks a great deal about the most avid followers of the
genre, though I’ll avoid that speculation for the moment. I think, embedded within many, is an
uneasiness and tension regarding light and dark. Fantasy stories are thus: darkness and
hopelessness covers the world with umbrage, and only a spark remains. Slowly,
steadily, the hero cossets the flame, coaxes it into a defiant candle against a
stygian tornado, the thrumming nimbus of storm that adumbrates a once edenic
land.
Is this story familiar?
A salvation: possibly a sacrifice,
likely a great battle. Much drama exists en route, but the most frequently ends
in familiar fashion: good overcomes evil. Silly isn’t it, but this story sells
countless novels, and we beg to hear it again and again. Often, a little love
spices up the story, twisting a romantic element into our familiar tale. If
there is a sacrifice, this is often its mode of entrance.
I find myself enthralled with
light. Its prismatic qualities, its saturations and hues.
U u
/ u /
u
In the rests and rhythms
U /
u u u
/ u u
Of resonance and renaissance
U u
/ u u
/ u u
In the magic and melodies
U /
u u /
u
Of music and muses
This is another spontaneous night.
My minds races through nothing in particular and pretends that it’s racing
through important topics. There is nothing of importance tonight. Nothing of writing importance, anyway.
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