Glimpses of the Tower

Author: Eriana Avin

A poem in 5 parts.

On the Cusp

I stand on the cusp,
a teetering edge of old and new.
I am no longer what I was,
and not yet what I will be.
All ties to my old life,
are to be severed.
I am afraid of what will come.
I stand on the cusp.

I shall no longer run,
through the rolling streets of Caemlyn,
The Mountains of Mist,
the seamlessness of Whitebridge,
the forests and fields.
I have not yet put on the white,
I stand on the cusp.

I shall no longer walk,
the straight streets of Cairhien,
the raucous ways of the Foregate,
by the rising sun of the palace,
the path of houses.
I have not yet put on the white,
I stand on the cusp.

I shall no longer watch,
as my brothers learn to fight,
as they ride out to keep the shadow at bay,
as they come home battered and worn,
as the men of the Borderlands fight without me.
I have not yet put on the white,
I stand on the cusp.

I shall no longer feel,
the brush of the sea,
the deck of he who keeps me safe,
riding the waves of my home,
showing me the way.
I have not yet put on the white,
I stand on the cusp.

I shall no longer touch,
the black of the Stone,
the treasures of Power,
the mud of the streets,
for I am shuttled away.
I have not yet put on the white,
I stand on the cusp.

I shall no longer hold,
a dagger for a fight,
a duel for my honor,
a red belt of healing,
a necklace of meaning.
I have not yet put on the white,
I stand on the cusp.

I come from everywhere,
and yet from nowhere.
My past is now severed,
it is no longer my life,
but it will always be there.
I am ready to put on the white,
I stand on the cusp.

A Novice's Room

A novice's room is plain.
Its walls are white,
its floors are white.
From the chipped sink,
to the simple wooden wardrobe,
A novice's room is plain.

A novice's chores build character.
From scrubbing the floors,
to running errands.
Even washing dishes,
until hands tremble.
A novice's chores build character.

A novice's lessons are structured.
Always a schedule to follow and work to do,
all types of classes take over time.
Channeling, history, politics and more,
all are taught by those above.
A novice's lessons are structured.

A novice's free time is cherished.
Whether used to practice alone,
even in fear of being caught.
Whether used to pull a prank,
in the few free instances of thought.
A novice's free time is cherished.

A novice's life is hard.
From working hard to succeed,
to scrubbing pots and pans.
From the pain of punishment,
to a few good laughs of kind.
A novice's life is hard.

A novice's room is plain.
Its walls and floors are white,
from the worn rug to small cot.
But it is always home,
to a tired Child.
A novice's room is plain.

Banded Colors

The Ring is on my finger.
It is truly there,
a part of me.
I still cannot comprehend,
that the banded hem is real.
The Ring is on my finger.

I passed through those arches,
that ter'angreal of sparkling white.
Thrice I was told 'Be Steadfast',
each time never knowing why.
I can never say what I saw there,
but I passed through those arches.

For what was, what is, and what will be.
I can never speak of it,
but oh how I wish I could.
I now understand why some would stay,
but I know that I never could.
For what was, what is, and what will be.

My room has changed.
Bigger and not so plain as it was,
adding a bit, but loosing a thing unknown.
Still a simple cot, sink, and rug,
but something is different.
My room has changed.

I stand at the front.
I am teaching a class,
and now I see I have truly surpassed them.
They look at me and fidget, wanting to move on,
and I can only slow, and warn them of disaster.
I stand at the front.

My time is more my own.
I am no longer confined,
to a schedule of classes and chores.
I can choose my own area of study,
and finally start to figure out who I am.
My time is more my own.

I stare at the banded hem.
All those colors, meaning so much,
Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, White, Brown, and Gray.
So many paths,
but only one way.
I stare at the banded hem.

The Ring is on my finger.
A symbol of more maturity,
but I still don't know the way.
Please guide me, help me Aes Sedai,
find my home for another day.
The Ring is on my finger.

One Hundred Weaves

One hundred weaves,
that is what we are taught.
Learn them and practice,
do as you're ought.
Calm and composure,
not too fast and not too slow.
One hundred weaves,
and home you will go.

'Remember what must be remembered'
Go to the star, that is what we are told,
and only then may you channel,
don't bother to be bold.
May the light protect you,
for that is all you have,
be strong and be steadfast,
for the full one hundred.

What outward calm must you carry,
when so scared you are,
but you must, never tarry,
or failure isn't far.
Step through that oval,
of all colors light,
forget all you once knew,
but remember what is right.

What you encounter there is your own,
never speak of it, no matter how bad,
one hundred must you weave,
it is Your test for the shawl.
Walk though with diligence,
never stop, never falter,
show that you have what it takes,
show that you are truly Aes Sedai.

Walk out of that ter'angreal,
do not become one of the trapped,
walk out battered and bruised,
this is what you can endure.
You have done it,
you are worthy,
now claim your shawl,
now go home.

A night of contemplation,
you must spend,
of the burdens of tomorrow,
that you have yet to comprehend.
Think of what was past,
what is, and what will be,
Tomorrow you take your place,
the Shawl around your shoulders.

Get dressed by lamplight,
the coming dawn brings change,
this is the last time of that plain small room,
it seems such a sudden exchange.
You stare at that banded hem,
that used to mean so much,
it is now time to choose a color,
from that very hood you clutch.

to swear the Three oaths,
this is why you are here,
Under the light you swear,
thrice said, thrice bonded.
then it is half done,
there is one more part to do,
go and choose your Ajah,
what color will You choose?

Walk forward to your home,
never look back, there is no need,
thus far you have been guided,
but you are of the Shawl indeed.
Walk forward to the traditions,
to your sisters clear and true,
never falter, never sway,
for you are Aes Sedai.

The Shawl of Years

You never looked back,
never turned around,
even when all was against,
never did it push you to the ground.

From the day you donned it,
it has never served you wrong,
that Shawl around your shoulders,
the color of your way strong.

You play with that colored fringe,
sometimes it still doesn't seem real,
but it has been the same for years,
the same as with your seal.

How much you have done,
throughout your long life,
but to you it seems short,
just a few years of pleasure and strife.

You endured all the hardships,
walked past all the pain,
given into the sadness,
of the ever random game.

You reveled in the happiness,
that was sometimes revealed,
no matter how it came,
it could never be concealed.

You look out of the window,
at the grounds of your home,
a place where you spent so much time,
as a young initiate alone.

You grew up so fast,
though it felt long at the time,
but looking back through the years,
you wonder what was on your mind.

You see what you used to be,
before you became what you are,
a novice, an accepted,
then it seemed so far.

But now look at who is here,
an Aes Sedai of high standing,
always working, always fighting,
of yourself you are demanding.

All that work that you have done,
all that you have accomplished,
will help those to come,
as you have always wished.

For you are Aes Sedai,
for what was and what is.
For you are Aes Sedai,
for what will always be.