Compass.




    Compass. compass stories
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syIg @really_nice_salads
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
really me and some mates just went down the pub and drank cheap ale

Compass.

I was the first to arrive, Fifteen minutes early, As is my custom. I had come from the north, Where the winds blow cold eternal, The soft winter's night meant nothing to me.

Next came the Southerner, My opposite who I had known for the shortest time, But was my closest friend. He came with a fanfare, And apologised for his tardiness, Despite being perfectly on time.

Together we went into the Gods' Hall, Filled with the merriment of drunken lords and ladies, Feasting and drinking, Calling for more, more! We sat in the furthermost corner, So that we might talk better.

Then, arrived the Easterner, Clothed in pure white with frosted hair and ice-eyes. My equal in mind and measure, Rooted in the rocks and the soil, And the bones of the high monsters of old, That together we did battle.

Lastly sauntered in the Westerner - the joker. Unfashionably late, and unseasonably poor, Owning nothing but a smile, his wealth behind his eyes. We bought honeyed ale for him, So that he might tell his tales better.

The four of us sat around the compass points, Swapping stories of our debauchery and delight, Our insecurities and our ills, Love and loneliness. Laughing and crying, All of us becoming the fools that we were in youth.

When we had learnt of easy passions, Which have now, long fled. The memories of which we all knew, But still, listened to once more, And once more after that, Never sated, like an unquenchable thirst.

When midnight chimed, We unwillingly departed. Each drifting our separate ways, On chariot, by sea, wings, and foot. Wandering home through the dark night, To see the dawn alone.

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