Never Give Up the Heart (by William Yeats)
Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright Read more »
By Nathan S.J. Sunshine
Based on World of Magic ©
Editor’s Note: The Meditater’s Prison contains terms from the World of Magic project. Click here for a dictionary.
The businessman muttered curses as he brushed pieces of glass caught in his platinum-leaf shoes. Shards littered the ground as he continued along the seldom-traveled path. Vacationers traveled far to reach this destination, the Plane of Glass, to see light filtered through hundreds of layers of colors that created a cathedral of dancing brilliance. For now, the glow only soured his mood.
He thought, what a sorry state of efficiency this place must be. Roads through the caverns of glass left unswept. Not one five-diamond resort built to attract businesses. Not even a four-diamond resort. The man did not understand how any Sentient could commit to living in this armpit of the universe. Read more »
By Nathan S.J. Sunshine
Laughter knocked off his friend’s helmet. Actually it was Gres’ backhand. A grunt showed that his friend did not appreciate the gesture.
“Hey!” the voice said. “What the Hell did you do that for?!”
Gres kept his eyes pointed forward. Before him through the charred hills marched a solemn procession of new slaves. Manacles bound their hands, and Gres knew that none would ever leave this place. None who entered the Dark Tower of Jroas, God of Tyranny, ever returned.
Except him, of course, and his friend Rip, who were employees of the Tower. It was not the best job. No question. Food and water were essentials of life, and here he received exactly enough to keep him satisfied.
“Your helmet doesn’t fit,” said Gres. “A grunt like you deserves smacks on the head.”
“Yah, well your armor doesn’t look too good either,” said Rip.
“Maybe you should ask the commander for a better uniform,” said Gres.
Rip was not too bright. He was the bastard of some commander and a slave. The mother was long dead, but her son lived because of his father’s status. Gres wondered which fate was better. Read more »
Hearts don’t break–egos break. From inside what was once a vase pours sweet, holy water–love that once served as juice for the rose that we are. We frantically do what we can to gather the juices from our heart to make what we may of our sloppy emotions. We survive nonetheless–there’s just enough water left to keep us alive and thirsty for more.
In the meantime, we make a new vase–a prettier one, with much more care, time, and wisdom having gone into it than the one we’ve outgrown. This time around, fresh water is poured from a bigger, sturdier well–if we ask for it.
Do not be afraid nor saddened by a broken heart–it’s a new chance to start over. Do not be afraid to let go of who you think you are to become who you might be. Rebuild your ego, even though there is a chance that you may bruise your hand in the process of trashing the broken and useless pieces.
Your petals are whole and alive. It is only our vessel that holds love that needs repair. Read more »