Messages

1

Poetic License / Blood Clot

« on: February 08, 2006, 04:04:06 PM »

Too many times I’ve tasted
Hatred spitting from the holes
You’ve created within me.
Deliciously terrible tadpoles,
Surging within my throat;
Fearing the oblivious pit,
They’d rather hide in whispers.
Drowning me in their bitterness,
Coppery killers sapping my will.
Choking and heaving to expel them,
I am rewoven into rage myself.
Too many times the crimson rivers
Ran from me, but I’ll not do the same
To them, to all of you; just get it over with.
I’m full of the dark scarlet waters,
So partake of them or decorate my surroundings,
I care not for your motives, as long as you enjoy
Harming one other to please yourself.
I’ll heal and you’ll still be only the little person,
A thorn in the side of humanity at it’s greatest.
You are nothing, a select piece of chattel,
While I am still advancing, incomprehensible
To you and your unenlightened lot.
Almost enough to make us weaker ones cry
For you, but we need not, we’ve bleed enough.
But once I stop, half empty, devoid of half my
Humanity intact, I’m still more a man
Than you can ever hope to be,
So goodbye.

2

Poetic License / DISINTEGRATION LAMENTATION

« on: February 08, 2006, 04:00:24 PM »

This decadent flesh bares wrath for owner,
Like the wildest windblown debris it shakes.
Taking all my will to cease the dread quakes;
In rage manifest, afraid, the loner.
Rebellious it lies in bed, a stranger,
Dying day to day, silently it rakes;
Crying at night, illusions down it breaks,
Plotting mutiny against his master.
Seeking to overtake my supreme will,
Cannibalizing itself in weakness.
But I fear I am no consolation.
From my feeble body in it’s sleekness,
I give apology to myself still:
My disintegration lamentation.

3

Poetic License / BLADESONG

« on: February 08, 2006, 03:59:06 PM »

Tel'Quessir in the silent death of dance,
of Beautiful twirl and of whistling blades,
down through the glorious & mystic glades,
thy gently spin, twirl and enter the trance.
Murmuring of the somber, wordless tunes,
to protect the elven way of life; they
are sent, fiery tempers into the fray:
is of Tethrin Veraldé’s greatest boons.
Swift as the falcon, deadly as the snake:
in a gentle and mesmerizing song,
proud elves bathe in light of the sun & moon.
With movements as agile as the cats, rake:
I invoke the art & grace of Blade’s song,
that is written in the Espruar runes.