Run Through the mists of a time long ago,
to a castle on top of a hill.
The search you had started is reaching its end,
you're no longer a servant of will.
Open the door through the castle walls,
cast your eyes on the beauty within.
All can be yours if you hold out your hand, she said.
The white lady that is standing before you,
sheds clear tears to soften your stare.
But when her flower is held within your arms,
your death will have answered his prayer.
He's testing the knowledge that sustained you,
to resist all that is so easily given.
This temptation unmasked is his last one,
rest your conscience on the pillars of heaven.
Pass the beauty alone through the courtyard,
to a door at the end of the path.
Three bright keys hang alone on the cold stone, choose one wisely to enlighten your path.
The answer to this journeys quest,
lay deep within these walls.
When the time is right for revealing,
may you find what is rightfully yours.
The gateway to the wisest mind of all,
was held locked without this key.
When at last after a thousand years,
the doors are thrown wide.
There's a mirror, tell me; what do you see?
Every engine, needs a key to start it
Taun Richards | Author
I grew up in small town in the Chiltern hills, in Buckinghamshire, England. My earliest influneces came from listening to the records my eldest brother used to play in his bedroom. The Beatles and Pink Floyd were two of his favorite bands. I was only twelve years old when I first heard Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon album.
Music became a perfect excuse to indulge my desire for solitude. I became somewhat fanatical about wanting to play the guitar, and in my mid teens, that is pretty much all I did. When it comes to song lyrics, I rate both Bob Dylan, and Neil Young very highly. Bob Dylan wrote for the common person; I admired him for that.
In April 2009 at the age of 48, I risked everything, and moved to the United States. I came back to England four years later, penniless, homeless, and without a clue about how I was going to rebuild my shattered life. Many people reach such a point as this, and choose to go no further, I held on, and I am so glad that I did.
A chance meeting with a Russian heroine, by the name of Karina Boroday. led to an invitation to join VKontakte (the Russian equivalent of Facebook). Prior to knowing Karina, I had never considered writing a book of poems. As I was browsing through her profile, I found a photograph of her sitting in a field. I wrote down what I felt, in the form of a poem. When I shared the poem with Karina, she was shocked by how deeply I had been able to peer into her soul. Karina shared the poem on her profile, and it started a chain reaction.
The Russian people still have a deep respect for poets and writers. The fact that I was an unpublished author did not stop many heroines from coming forward to share their story with me. Just a few days after Karina posted The Golden Fields of Autumn I wrote another poem, ‘Bird in a Cage’ for Valeria Semchenko. Valeria ended up quitting her job so she could assist me full time with the project. I wrote the poems, and chose the accompanying image to each poem, Valeria managed everything else.
One poem led to another, and another, until a book of poems came into being. Every poem in the book tells a true life story. The innocence, rawness, and vulnerability of everyone involved, is part of the books overall charm.
This is the abridged version of how Butterfly WIngs the book came into existence. The full story will be told in the forthcoming book Caterpillar Tracks.
Poem written for Karina Boroday
The golden fields of Autumn
The golden fields of Autumn; summer's drawing to a close.
She sits a while, the sun bowing down, casually strikes a pose.
The world disappeared; all she could hear was the rustling of the trees.
Birds singing, crickets chirping, the faintest whisper of a summer breeze.
Karina borrowed a day in her life, paused, just long enough to think.
Watched the most beautiful sunset spray the clouds, burnt orange, and pink.
She thought about leaving it all behind, to live alone with Mother Earth.
No nine to five, no traffic jams, no internet, really what is all that worth?
Money. clothes, makeup, none of these things mattered much out here.
She could be herself, the world fell silent, her thoughts for once were clear.
Something changed as her soul stepped out over that thin blue line.
The shutter clicked, her expression captured, forever, in a moment of time.
Her virtue? as wholesome as the blade of grass hanging from her lips.
One beautiful memory, one solitary girl, who lives for moments like this.
I would like to give a special thank you to Valeria Semchenko for her incredible faith and belief in me, and this book. Maria Martynova for her generosity in managing all the legal aspects for the copyright release forms. All the photographers and models who participated in providing such outstanding images. Finally I want to give a special thanks to all the heroines who shared their personal stories with me, without you, this book would not have been possible.