Back in business! Whoo. Okay... I have a lot to catch up with.
A mountain stands
Forbidding and grin
Two climb high on it
Their breath growing thin
One surges, forward, turns
Offers their hand
The other reaches for it
Oh, isn't it grand?
When two who are
Nothing to one another
Suddenly start acting
Like they are brothers
I really liked the message of the above, Urist.
Two strangers help each other on the road:
Dark and Light meet
In the woodland,
Both unsafe and
Neither knowing.
Darkness gives his
Hand. The rotten
Wood collapses.
Death approaches.
Lightness gives her
Hand. The growing
Wood is breathing.
Death is coming.
Dark gives hand, and
Light accepts it.
Both together;
Death is nowhere.
----
Chess:
Chivalry on a board.
The King protects the pawns,
The Queen is ready to defend
Against the marshalled might of wrong.
Wrong. King is saved by pawns
Who throw their flesh between
Imagined thrusts and parries.
The mind which watches all
Enjoys it, the macabre, the massacre.
The Queen does not defend, but sends
Herself into the fray, Angel of Death
Manoeuvring through the ranks,
Killing the loyal knight, honour-bound rooks.
Battle on a Board, the Master is not bored,
He revels in the flesh that is not flesh.
World falls away. All the world's terrors,
Made of wood, are here. And they will pay.
A poem based off of a story:
(Inspired by Beren and Luthien)
The wind blown Hemlock brings
The scent of bubbling springs,
Though many years have passed
Without you near, my life's repast.
Give me your hand of lily-white,
The mystery of your hair
And I will live, if living is to fight
To see your heart, and to be there.
I may be but a man, and you an elf
Who ne'er grows old, nor has bad health
But when the wind blows in the Hemlock sheaves
I hear your voice, the voice of Autumn leaves,
And in their cries, I see your eyes.
Though death may come for me, I'll give my hand
Nevertheless to one who never dies
With but one wish, and one demand.
Love me through all the years to come,
But when I am the moon and not the sun
Remember me as I am now, my hand
Dipped in the brook where nearby stand
Hemlock sheaves and the leaves,
The leaves I hear you in,
An elf with gold-embroidered sleeves.
Ah! Since when was to love a sin?
---
A tool:
Most work is simple as the day,
You do it fast and get your pay.
You put in work and get out gold,
And in this way you soon grow old.
But find a trusty tool to use
Along the paths of your abuse
And you will find that you can smile
Though pain may visit every mile.
Also, I just watched phantom of the opera. It has a scene in it reminiscent of the Masquerade poem I did for a prompt a page or so back:
Most notably after 3:00.Well, I've been reading The King in Yellow lately, so my poem is based off one of the "mini-stories" within the Prophet's Paradise section. It is The Green Room:
The powdered Clown was sitting on his chair.
He turned to his mirror and asked,
"If it is true that to be fair
is to be beautiful, don't none compare
with me within my pale mask?"
((pale is 2 syllables here))
"Who can?" I asked Death, next to me, to learn
the truth of this from his reply:
"Who can to me? Paler am I."
"You are beautiful," said the Clown, then turned
away from his mirror and sighed.
I really like this. I have a slight issue with using pale as two syllables, but it's small.
For tomorrow: Juletide, Christmas, Winter. You get the idea.
Something seasonal.