those little men
encrusted with paint and ink into paper
hues on their armor, mystery in their eyes
shifting in my mind, rolling with curiosity within my heart
those little creatures
frog looks at me with its third eye
cat’s face human-like – it enters my dreams
tempting to open the grimoire once more
I studied history… long time ago. It was fascinating subject, dripping with both beauty and obliviousness of old ages. I clung to it, because it was settling me somehow in our times – I was able to be who I want to be, without resigning from my passion, not necessarily fitting in, with one foot in the past; but that didn’t matter when I was opening them.
Old, new, breathing ages and centuries through what was inside. Art, wars, culture, believes… it all was there, ready to be absorbed. Like a vital essence I needed, a water of life against normalcy and common life.
What I remember most, were simple medieval paintings, tiny lads with uncanny faces, mysterious creatures of unknown origin. There be dragons. And not only dragons, there were other, even more fantastic beasts, who I tended to copy and stick in my room. They were my passion, my coping mechanism and my door to enchanted garden.
And while most were delightfully creepy and odd, I couldn’t but smile at the humoristic ones, the best example is internet-circling man who smiles while other man pierces his head with a knife.
Secret garden knows honest laughter, secret garden tempts with fae, three-eyed frogs… and happily-murdered people.
I miss my books. I want to return to them. But as middle ages prove, everything passes. My Era Oscuro ended, blended with darkness, with its young sun and clear skies. And little knights with swords where they shouldn’t be.