Frozen In Bliss III: Neichzebnig

The faeries sang their sorrow,

The sirens played their fury,

The muses lamented their torment,

The pixies cried their grief.



The land of pleasure and majik, Neichzebnig!

For once it had been an enchanted kingdom of spirits,

Now grace has forsaken thee.

No more than a barren place of forlorn creatures,

No more of the colorful paths of floras to welcome me.

But violets still strive on such harsh enchanted earth,

For a tale of long ago still roam in eternal mystery:

The Grim’s love and the violets;



Vaalkvothura! The continent of great Lords and warriors!

From where The Grim was conceived,

Its soil from where The Grim was nurtured.

And the violets from the kingdom of Neichzebnig

With her greatest love a faerie once planted ‘em,

And with all her heart sent them to faraway places,

And with all her soul embraced each with beautiful memories.

The petals traveled through the invisible tunnels of Neichzebnig,

To the hollow sunken valley at Vaalkvothura’s edge.

There lived The Grim

In solitude,

In madness,

In nothing,

In darkness.



Love and death go together, it was said.

What of violets and The Grim in the tale?

What of love and death?

The tale of long ago of The Grim’s love and the violets,

Mysterious death of the lovely faerie of violets

And the mysterious love of The Grim.



I stand frozen on grassy lands.

At the center of the world here lies

Great power of will and pride.

So long had been my stay,

On so far I’ve come astray

Minds in shattered array

Of old memories and tales.

The Great Lord of Tundr my master,

Has called forth a war to beget peace.

What peace my Lord?

On to this land of wonder and bliss?

For heavens, should I not weep?

For death, should I not fear?

Does hearts of the living count not to the King?

I serve thee by heart, and by the crown hurt returned to me;

Torment crushes me for leaving paradise,

With rues I fled your palace.

My Lord’s beautiful face in wrinkling desperation,

I could not bear to see,

Not a sight of ebony locks

Or that hazel orbs that sees through souls.

Pardon me my dear Lord!

Thy crystal staircases I yearn no more

Or the Mangroves in the snowy alps of Tree Hills invites no more.

Thus swears to forget thy loves ardor!

I rest myself on my poet’s endearments,

Free me from pain and guilt of fleeting passion!

My Lord, my love, and what of you?

My poet, my man or my lover too?



In Neichzebnig my poet been,

Told me stories of the spirits’ plight

Gave me handful of violets in delight!

Ah, he silence me with whispers

With melodious tunes of lovely verses,

Like faeries and muses, sirens and pixies,

A male spirit of beauty lost in the majikal kingdom of Neichzebnig.

And I adore him.

And the owl by his side,

The lips that never cease with sweetest words,

Or caress mine in gentlest way.

My dear poet’s from somewhere he said,

My faith, such could be a lie!

Hear his music not so ordinary,

Flowers dance with him in glee;

For nothing and nowhere and no one alive,

In Vaalkvothura can compare to thee,

In enchanted Neichzebnig could you only be,

With spirits in the land of pleasure, majik, and beauty;

Neichzebnig, the most magnificent place mortal eyes could see.

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