Scroll of Darnlia

A poem from the mythos of my fantasy writing

I hold a scroll in my hands, with nothing but confusion in my mind

My confusion burns like paper in the blaze that becomes my curiosity

I unravel the scroll, revealing ancient words meant only for me

The words roll over and into me, exploding and burning a tale upon my heart

As if tattooing messages upon my soul, without regard for my will

My eyes will not close, and I cannot stop reading

The story becomes my reality, and the world around me implodes

My previous surroundings have been cracked and shattered

The shards falling into obscurity around my feet

The scroll jumps from my hands and winds up shut

With a snap and a click the scroll is sealed

It appears to burn before my eyes

But the fires are not to burn, they are to transform

The scroll is changed before my eyes into a woman

She is dressed in fine blue and black robes of leather and silk

Her skin is covered with tattoos, the markings are the same as those on the scroll

Her eyes are gleaming with the light from a hundred dynasties and a thousand civilizations

As well as with the wisdom of ages gone past since time immemorial

She speaks to me in a strange tounge

My mind tells me that I don't understand her at all

My heart tells me that I understand perfectly

My body is about to keel over

I am swallowed by darkness, falling into unconciousness

Her piercing gaze never leaves my thoughts

Nor does her sharp tounge, echoing through my brain

I wake up in the dessert, burned from the scorching sun above me

The scroll is in my hands again

I quickly pack it away under my cloak

and start walking in the direction of the wind,

that is,..now that I have permission.