My Blog...How original.

Every time i hear "Flying", "Fairy Dance", or "Set Them Free" and several others songs of such being, my blood boils with excitment. i feel as light as a feather, i am not one of this world, my hand clenches a sword that none sees but i. it is of the finest metel and catches the light as if it was light itself; it is lite, but can not be broken. the cape that none can feel flaps in the wind that dance with life. my hair is not of mine own, so different is it that no beautition can design. across my back is a bow and a quiver full of arrows. i feel of so much power that it is maddening, yet i cannot findone to share of it with. so the feeling follows me like a dark shadow, never leaving my mind and taking captive of my entire body as soon as i lay my head down to rest of pick up a pen to write. magic flows threw my vains and the candle of fantisy is lit...


Someone is playing a magical instrument. i am wisped away to a land of my fairest dreams. everyone i know is there, but none i can recigonize; for they are no longer human, but mystical plants and beings. except one, he sits under the tree, he is playing the magical instrument, he was the one that call me. he smiles at me, i can not help but smile back, enchanted by his eyes that dance to his very own music. he puts the musical instrument down, but it has a spell over it, and the music carries on. rising himself up, the lad flys over toward me, gracefully but with all quickness. claspin my hands, i am not afraid, i see that he shall do no harm to me. we need not to try and dance, the wind gently blows us to where we need to be. all we do is hold hands; out bodies less then two breaths away. out lips do not smile but our eyes do yet one side does slightly lift, awed by the boys utter fair beautifulness. the dance carries on long but we do not tire. as i gaze into his eyes i finnally know who he is, a tear slips down my cheek with happiness. he leans forward and i do not resist, i read his eyes of compasion our lips almost touch, but suddenly there is silence. the music has stopped and i feel myself being pulled away. he holds on to me with all his strength but we are soon apart. he fades and so to everything else. the last llok on his face was of pain and sorrow. i am back in my bed. it is ten fifty-seven. the day has past and i will depart. -argetlam