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Walker

I write stuff...

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Noted; You're added to the list serce2~

 

Now, more poetry:

 

Inner Demons

 

Only minor sins betray the hellfire

Blazing deep inside: a biting remark,

Eyes burning like a funeral pyre,

Curses muttered while alone in the dark.

We hide it, only small reliefs allowed,

Maintaining the guise of holy and pure,

Pretending our demons are disavowed

Until we can't continue to endure.

Have you heard the stifled roar sequestered

In the depths of your soul? The words unsaid

Break the vow of silence, having festered

So long the only cure is to be bled.

There's no shame in not being an angel

When our lives can be so very painful.

 

Mousia's request:

 

A Word of Advice

 

When the words of another author bleed through the paper

Dyeing you with uncertainty and jealousy

Take the ink stains, coat your fingers in black,

And fingerpaint.

 

Even the master painter started like this,

With “childish” displays of creativity.

Experience can be gained by any,

But only the driven can use stains to make murals.

Edited by Walker

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Walker...you just read my soul right there. You are...magical.

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Walker...you just read my soul right there. You are...magical.

Nah, I'm not magical. It happens to the best of artists; I have people I look at and feel the same way about. I'm still learning just as much as the next person. It's a common thread among the lot of us.

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Nah, I'm not magical. It happens to the best of artists; I have people I look at and feel the same way about. I'm still learning just as much as the next person. It's a common thread among the lot of us.

You had a magical moment; I'm convinced. Even if you are modest, your art is amazing.

Keep doin' what you do.

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You had a magical moment; I'm convinced. Even if you are modest, your art is amazing.

Keep doin' what you do.

Well, if it helps any, my magic consists of:

 

1. Trying to keep a strong and consistent image for each poem

2. Trusting the audience will get what I'm trying to say without stating the point outrightly in the poem

3. Relying on details and images to tell the story for me

 

That's about the gist of my "magic." tongue.gif More like strategy.

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Well, it's more like that, plus the fact that you always seem to do the right subject for each requester. Y'know?

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I haven't started yet on this I'm afraid. I have two other pieces I need to do for another site before I can start on the request; expect something in 3-4 days.

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Uhm... could you write something... about my OC Kyzaro (also a major character in a story I'm writing) finally managing to defeat Lankharra (the main villain of the piece)?

 

Some background info: Kyzaro was a warrior/army leader who led his clan to battle with the enemy. He was defeated in battle (the cause of his large scar), leading to the entire clan being slaughtered.

 

For reference, here is Kyzaro: link

Lankharra is a dragon.

Edited by rampaging wyvern

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Silv

 

During the day, we hide blackness

As if it were a secret shame.

Let me tell you a simple truth;

It resides in all of us.

 

I am a creature born of fire,

And yet am confined to the darkness.

The moon has settled in my heart

And made me his own.

 

The sun spurns me for my ebony,

But even he cannot fight

The encroachment of night

Nor flee the wickedness in his soul.

 

I have never been allowed to rest

In the warm arms of the day.

My nursemaid was the immensity

Of a starless midnight sky.

 

I have seen men commit

The darkest desires of their souls:

Murders, thefts, horrid crimes

Which they would not dare do in the light.

 

The rays of the sun banish me

To this eternal hell

And forces me to live with the realities

He blinds himself to with his own brightness.

 

My brother sun would have me believe

That the night can’t escape the light.

“The glow of the moon

Is a mere reflection of the sun’s flames.”

 

But I will fight to vanquish him from the sky

So he can see the opposite is also true.

 

Silv is the one that really spoke to me; the sun references are of course about Ignis. It was a pretty neat concept, to be able to mess with the contrast of a creature born of fire being the moon. I hope it suffices?

 

rampaging wyvern, I can look into it after the first of next month. I've got to move back to my dorm soon so that'll have me distracted. But you're on the request list now.

 

I won't be taking any more requests until rampaging wyvern's piece is done.

Edited by Walker

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I love your poetry. Could you maybe write me one about 'ink on my hands' (which is a twist on the phrase 'blood on my hands'?) Please?

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Walker is kinda busy right now, read his post smile.gif

Walker is a she~ True story ;D

 

Anyways, I'll go ahead and take on the request if you ask after rampaging wyvern's is done, so just keep an eye out for when I open them again~

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Trololololol My humor.

 

 

Chocolate and Brimstone

 

A disgusted hiss escaped the Lumina dragon. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to determine if the mark on her scale was merely a speck of dirt, or the powers that be forbid, a scratch. Stretching out her dainty leg in front of her, she ran her soft tongue over the smooth surface of the luminescent scale. When she drew her head back, she noted the mark was still there. Nostrils flaring in disdain, she dipped her head and gripped the edge of the scale with her teeth, easing it out with a gentle tug.

 

The scale slid out easily, revealing the tan skin underneath. The Lumina dragon whipped her elegant head quickly, sending the scale flying through the air. The sunlight played off the bright white surface, causing it to sparkle brilliantly as it flew, but it didn't matter to her; it was imperfect and because of that she wanted it out of her sight. After that, she returned to her ministrations, searching her hide obsessively for any sign of a defect.

 

The heat of the desert sun beating down on her warmed her to the core; although many would find it uncomfortably hot her kind was suited to most environments. Satisfied that she was properly groomed other than that single scratch, the Lumina settled into the soft sands of the dune and gave a mighty yawn. The warmth was making her drowsy; with nothing pressing that needed done, she might as well doze away the afternoon….

 

Her nostrils quivered when a strange scent wafted towards her. At first, she tried to ignore it, but then she realized it was extremely pleasant. Intrigued, she uncurled her body and forced herself to her feet. Whatever the smell was, she couldn't place it. She'd never met the likes of it before. However, anything that smelled that fantastic couldn't be bad. Actually, she wouldn't mind smelling like that herself. A part of her hoped the scent originated from some odd desert flower or mineral she could rub into her scales like a perfume.

 

Confidently, the Lumina set off, following the scent trail. As strong as it was, she was sure it wouldn't take long to track the source. Much to her consternation however, the miles slipped by like the sand in an hourglass. The sun climbed higher in the sky, nearly reaching its zenith. The heat went from comfortable to unbearable. If she'd allowed herself to sleep, she would have obliviously napped through it but now she had to deal with the uncomfortable sensation of the sand burning the sensitive pads of her feet.

 

Curiosity gave way to frustration. The scent didn't diminish or grow stronger the farther she went. If she was approaching the source, it should have become more overpowering, but it was still only a slightly pleasant tickle in her nostrils. On the brink of giving up this ridiculous escapade, she let out an angry huff that sent a plume of sand into the air. Then she caught a flicker of movement as something disappeared over the rise of the next dune. Then it hit her; what if her target was moving!?

 

Flaring her wings, the Lumina dragon took to the air. The beating of her wings sent up a cloud of sand that settled on her hide. Her irritated huffing turned into an infuriated roar. After all the cleaning she'd done, she'd have to do it all over again! Not to mention, the gritty material was likely to scratch a fair number of her scales. However, now she was determined to track the source after all the trouble she'd gone through.

 

The scent would be difficult to follow from the air, but it didn't matter because she now could track the movement instead. The ground fell away and she climbed into the air. It didn't take long to spot what she was looking for. The red dragon stuck out like a sore thumb against the yellow sands of the desert. Oddly enough, the dragon seemed to have stopped its advance, waiting expectantly on the other side of the dune for what she could only assume was her.

 

Angling her wings down, she landed behind the red dragon. Now that she was in close proximity to him, she was more than sure the scent came from him. Chocolate-y. That's what it was. Once she'd had the occasion to smell a food the humans ate that was similar to this. Sensing her presence, the red dragon turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. Flaring the fins on his back, sending another wave of the scent coursing through the air, he gave her a ridiculously smug smile.

 

Her claws kneaded the sand and her frustrated huffs gave way to deep, even breaths as she tried to drink in as much of the smell as she could manage. Her mouth began to water and tip of her tail quivered with pleasure. 'What is this about? And how did you come to smell like that?' she asked the strange dragon excitedly. All of the sudden, this trip was worth it.

 

'He'll be here in one, two…' the red dragon replied.

 

What kind of a reply was that?! Then she felt the ground begin to shake under her feet. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. A gigantic, yellow dragon lumbered around the corner of a dune into the clearing. Lips curling back to show her teeth, the Lumina dragon stumbled back. Living in the desert, she'd seen her fair share of Brimstones but she'd always avoided them. They were ugly brutes that didn't pay nearly enough attention to their scales, nor did she want to experience their infamous stench.

 

The Brimstone made his way up to her and flared his wings, making himself look larger. His nostrils quivered as he tested the air, drinking in the scent of the red dragon. Was there something clenched in his jaws? Before she had time to think about it, the Brimstone released the creature. A large mammal tumbled from his mouth and landed feet from the Lumina with a wet squish. Blood went flying from the dead camel's wounds when it slammed into the ground, coating the Lumina's brilliant scales in red. Coagulated blood covered the camel's fur. The neck was twisted at a hideous angle. The Lumina stumbled back a step when she realized there was a huge bite taken out of the camel's hind leg. 'Well?' the Brimstone asked expectantly.

 

All of the sudden, the Lumina realized what had happened. She'd heard rumors of the mysterious dragon breed named Heartseekers that took it upon themselves to bring unmated dragons together; however, she'd always thought it had only been that: a rumor. Had she just been set up?! And with THIS?! She only ate vegetation anyways!

 

Another angry roar burst from her, causing the Brimstone to jump a little. A second later, the scent of chocolate was overwhelmed by a hideous, sulfurous smell. Her eyes watered and she gasped for breath; so this was the infamous stench of the Brimstones! It burned her nostrils! Not waiting for the Brimstone to speak again, she turned and ran as fast as she could. Still, no matter how hard she ran the scent still seemed to cling to her.

 

After a minute or two, she heard the sound of feet hitting the ground just behind her. Was the Brimstone chasing after her?! Angered, she spun around and prepared to face her foe…. Only to have the Heartseeker, looking as off-colored as she felt, run right into her. She sputtered and roared when her body slammed into the ground. Sand filled her mouth and nostrils, causing her to cough violently, only broken by the occasional sneeze.

 

'I didn't mean to… Are you…' the Heartseeker asked desperately.

 

After a moment, the coughing became less intense. That coillision… so many new scratches, so much dirt under scales, so much clean-up work she'd have to do…

 

'No, I'm not you idiot!' she screamed back as she shot back to her feet. The Heartseeker was going to pay. She hunched down as if prepared to spring. She drew her lips back, revealing her teeth. A low growl emanated from her.

 

In response, the Heartseeker stumbled back a step, looking horrified. Taking that as her signal to continue, the Lumina flew out of her crouched position right towards the Heartseeker. A terrified roar escaped the red dragon and he collapsed into the sand when she slammed into his body. 'Don't hurt me! Don't hurt m-' he paused his begging when he realized the Lumina hadn't proceeded to attack him.

 

Desperately, the Lumina rubbed her head against the Heartseeker's fins, trying to cover up the stench of the Brimstone. 'What are you doing?!' the Heartseeker demanded, shifting as if to stand up.

 

Another low growl emanated from the Lumina. 'Stay down!' she snapped. 'The least you could do after that idiotic blunder is help me get rid of this smell!'

 

The Heartseeker twitched his tail repeatedly, embarrassed and confused by the whole situation. However, he relaxed back into the sand. This was much better than suffering the angry female's wrath. Satisfied when he acquiesced to her odd request, the Lumina turned her attentions to her ministrations with a new fury. Pressing her nostrils against the Heartseeker's fragrant fins, she rubbed her nose back and forth repeatedly until the cloying scent of the Brimstone was driven away.

 

Once she was done with that, she proceeded to rub other parts of her body against the fins, covering herself in the delicious scent. If the Heartseeker had put her through this much trouble, she at least deserved something out of it. The cat-like rubbing continued for up to five minutes before she finally pulled away. The Heartseeker lifted his head to stare at her, tail flicking repeatedly, revealing his agitated state.

 

Huffing angrily, the Lumina lifted her head and turned it to the side, ignoring his gaze. 'This is all your fault,' she said primly. Calmly, she spread her wings and took to the air again, leaving the confused Heartseeker behind her.

 

Well, at least she smelled amazing.

Edited by Walker

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Twitch

 

I am an earthquake.

My inner tectonic plates shift

In response to the building pressure.

My finger tremors slightly

And I am released in the brief rift.

 

I think I'm in love with this piece. No idea why but...

 

 

Anyways rampaging, your piece will be next on the agenda, since I'm settled into the dorms and everything. Thanks for the patience!

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Some pretty good stuff compared to what one normally encounters on such threads, so congratulations. Your poems are much superior to your prose, which is a bit stylistically 'blah,' in my opinion. Let me explain that a bit more clearly, everyone falls into a distinct style, the way they reveal information, format their sentences, the ratio of description versus dialogue versus inner monologue, etc. Yours, at the moment, falls into a category characteristic of someone who's trying to figure out how to write in a fashion that is considered "correct," as in making it something your school teacher will give an A. Don't be afraid to break out of that. Be rebellious. Try something different, for example, integrate your poetry into your prose by giving it a rhythmic, poetic flair.

 

If you find my critique annoying, feel free to ignore me. I only say things this detailed when I see distinct potential and talent. If you wish to PM me and ask questions, about specifics or how-to's or if you're just plain confused, go ahead.

Edited by PhoenixStarr

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Haha, it probably has something to do with the fact I'm not nearly inspired by my prose as my poetry. The only prose that really gets me excited is my Transformers fanfics, which I don't bother posting here because we don't have a ton of fans around.

 

The one piece of prose I did post here was meant to be humorous anyways, not serious. If you want one of my serious prose pieces...

 

It's hard to understand unless you've read the book it was inspired by though. Transformers: Exodus. But, mostly I know I have a ton of inner monologue. Because I'm a writer that likes everything to be clear. I don't want to leave the character's motivations hazy in the slightest.

 

At the Heart of Cybertron

 

He stood at threshold of the tunnel that led to the heart of Cybertron, and he wondered how it had come to this. He'd put his whole spark into the task he had been assigned, and yet he had still failed. Why had the Core ever bothered to bestow the Matrix on him, a mere data clerk? A mistake that had led to…. His optics slowly slid over the terrible scene before him. The pit that had once housed the Well of Allsparks was completely lifeless, which disturbed him greatly since this place had once been the source of all life for the planet. The twisted corpses of Autobots and Decepticons alike littered the ground; it seemed as if there wasn't a place left on Cybertron that wasn't a carpet of the deceased.

 

The tunnel glowed dimly with a disturbing violet light, a side effect of the dark energon that had destroyed the planet. Even after all the dark energon resources had run dry, leading to the eventual starvation of all life on the planet, the planet still bore the signs of its infection. Everyone else was gone, except for him: Optimus Prime. And he could only owe his continued existence to one thing. The voice of the Matrix had guided him this whole way, leading him to the few reserves of energon left, and once that had run out…. Why had the Matrix felt the need to guide him through the apocalypse after his failure? Ark had only made it off the ground for a few nanokliks despite the best attempts of the Wreckers to hold back Trypticon. And it was all on his shoulders, since he'd been the one to give the order to evacuate the planet, even if it was at the behest of the Core.

 

Now the voice was telling him to venture into the tunnel. What good would it do? The planet was dead and there was nothing he could do to resurrect all the people who had fallen: Ironhide, Jetfire, Ultra Magnus, even Alpha Trion. Fallen in his name. "May they rest eternally in the Well of Allsparks!" Optimus screamed angrily. "Why?!" It didn't matter what came out of his vocoder anymore. He was the only one left to hear.

 

There was an obstacle in his path; the long-lightless optics of a dead decepticon stared at him accusingly. Why had this decapitated head chosen to rest directly in front of the tunnel that led to the Core? It was as if it knew that the Matrix would lead him here and wanted one last chance to remind him what he had done to Cybertron. "You're right. I am responsible," he muttered to it, looking away in shame. Maybe it was crazy to talk to the offline, but who else was there left to talk with?

 

Sidestepping the head, he entered the tunnel and began to walk into the depths of Cybertron. Unlike the first time he had come here with Bumblebee and Jetfire, he wasn't instantly overcome by the influences of dark energon. That had long since been drained by the starved survivors of the war. However, despite the lack of it, the hallucinations and disconnections from reality still happened. Some of them were brought on by his nearly staved state, yet others from the memories he could not escape.

 

Whenever he turned a corner, he expected to see Jazz waiting for him, ready to tell him this was all a cosmic joke. All that greeted him was the same emptiness. Then he would see the twisted body of his dearest friend amongst the wreckage of the Ark and start screaming in anguish. After he returned to himself and realized it was only a hallucination, the sounds of his own screams would echo in his audios for what seemed teracycles on end, as if Cybertron itself were keening for the dead. He lost track of how many times this happened.

 

The floors of the rotting tunnels gave way under him more than once, and it always came as a surprise. Falling, falling, falling, hitting the ground with a thunderous crash, finding himself in a strange, new tunnel. Then he would push on because he had no other choice. Where else was there to go but where the Matrix urged him? As he went on, he accumulated a myriad of new injuries but he stoically ignored them. What could a small leak from his side, a sparking wire, or an arm crushed under a piece of falling debris do to him? Cause him pain? He already carried the pain of a desolate and destroyed home world with him wherever he ventured.

 

Eventually, he finally found his way to the Core. His very spark shuddered as he approached it. The room was pitch black, other than the dim, violet glow from the tunnels. He could barely see, but he knew where it was instinctually. Stumbling to the foot of the Core, right where the Plasma Energy Chamber had once embedded itself with its corruption spikes, Optimus reached out and gently brushed what had once been the heart of a thriving civilization. A final scream escaped him, one last farewell to those who had passed on, including the planet of Cybertron itself.

 

Some part of him had been vainly hoping the Core would still be glowing dimly with its telltale white light when he realized that was where the Matrix was leading him. Anything to know he wasn't the only living thing left, even if the only other thing was the planet itself. However, it wasn't to be. Strength fled him and he collapsed to his knees in front of the Core. He couldn't hold on much longer and he knew it. Now was the time for him to pass on and join the other Primes in the Matrix. But for what? There was no Prime left to succeed after him. Could he even really call himself a Prime anymore, with no one left to lead? Would the Matrix of Leadership die with him?

 

'No, Optimus Prime. We will live. Cybertron will live. You know what you need to do,' the voices of the previous Primes whispered to him from the Matrix.

 

Optimus Prime looked around in confusion, as if he could glean answers from his surroundings, but what little he could see was only a blur. Was this some ridiculous attempt by the Matrix to comfort him? Somehow he doubted it. The Matrix didn't talk without good reason. But how could it promise impossible things like that? He knew what he needed to do? What was….? He knew! Quickly, before it was too late!

 

He forced himself to his feet, whole frame shuddering, and leaned against the edge of the core with his good arm. The Primes of the Matrix fed Optimus their strength, and for that moment he felt more alive than he ever had. A look of awe crossed his face as his chest plates slid aside to reveal his own spark, ablaze with the life force of Primus. How beautiful it was, lighting the room with its soft blue glow…. He himself was the last repository of the essence of the Primes, of Cybertron, of life, of everything. His spark seemed to be such a small thing, but it only took a spark to start an inferno. But it was time for him to give himself back, just as everyone did when they went to the Well of Allsparks. However, now he knew that was not where he was destined for.

 

The voices of the Primes continued to whisper to him encouragingly as he leaned into the Core. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his spark started to reach out to the Core. Small, blue tendrils of light began to jump from his spark chamber to the Core. For the briefest moment, they both lived at once, and Optimus was once again awash in the brilliant white light of the heart of Cybertron, his own spark now pathetically dim in comparison. A joyful smile crossed his face as he relinquished the last pieces of his essence to the Core. In order to live again, it would need all of his strength. When the last bit of light from his spark dimmed, the legendary figure of Optimus Prime toppled to the ground at the foot of the Core.

 

The last thing he heard was the Core whispering to him in his own voice. 'Cybertron will not be forgotten.'

 

…………………………………………………………

 

It was time. Cybertron had recovered from the effects of the war and energon once again welled up from Cybertron's springs. The corpses of Autobots and Decepticons alike had either rusted to nothing or been buried in the darkest depths and crevices of the planet. Thanks to the curious alien species that lived on the planet on which the Allspark landed, the Well had been returned to its proper place when the 'humans' came searching for the source of the powerful object that had crashed on their planet so long ago. The Core of Cybertron glowed brilliantly and the planet pulsed with life. Amongst it all, one lone protoform dragged himself from the Well, the first of many.

Edited by Walker

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Have poetry that isn't what I'm supposed to be working on.

 

Pen

I am bled

 

 

 

 

 

Dead

By the power of the pen

 

It strives to turn my blood to ink

But I am too overfull of maggots

To receive

 

It stabs me

But I only bleed rotten fluids

Not words

 

I am too cold and rigid

To ever know the freedom

It may give

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Get back to requests you! >:(

 

Great writing though o3o *gives cookie* Daang...how you do eet...I write my best and it's still criticized as monotonous and stereotypical :|

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Haaaah! I loved the story about the lumina and the heartseeker.

They really are vain enough to spurn my poor uglies xd.pngxd.pngxd.png

 

mmmmmchocolate......

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Your piece is done rampaging wyvern. It's a bit of a double meaning. The literal fight, but it's also about overcoming his past. I hope you like it~

 

Marked

 

Ferocity of the lion, and pride of the eagle

Claws of the hunter, and wings of the free.

That is all they see when they look at me.

 

I know they are wrong when

I catch a glimpse of myself in the deceptive reflection

Of my “foe’s” scales; my visage is distorted

As if looking into a shattered mirror.

 

All I am is a mass of scar tissue, straining to fly,

weighed down by my long “healed” wound.

 

Lankharra, my “foe,” the fire-breather

Stands like a wall before me,

Ready to attack.

 

There is no beginning to this war.

I have been fighting it within myself for years.

With the first slash of Lankharra’s claws,

He tears open all my old scars.

 

The blood I taste in my mouth is my own

And theirs

Long shed but not dead, at least not to me

Who flew at the spearhead of the flock.

 

He nearly skins me, and by so doing

Frees me of my marked pelt.

Finally, with the scars torn away,

I am free to fly.

 

I rise to his neck, clamp it in my beak,

And crush my “foe.”

 

Farewell, Past.

 

Here, have an abstract-ish piece.

 

Lost in the Found Stars

 

I wander the continent of my covers

Searching the fabric's valleys and mountains

For a place to escape.

 

The harsh softness provides no place

To rest my restlessness.

 

I stray beyond the borders of the land-bed

To the water-floor

And sail to the sky-window.

 

I see beyond

And my mind flies to the star-heavens.

 

Borders melt away.

No longer can I feel the cool clouds

Of the window pane under my fingers.

What is time? The stars will always be heaven.

Hell-dawn is a mere story

To frighten children

Such as me.

 

The star-heavens are my compass to peace.

I know the one in the north

Has led a million travelers to their destinations,

But which one is it?

So many, too many. No matter.

I have an eternity to follow every pinpoint of light

And lose me as I try to find me.

 

This means... requests are open again. Wooooo~

 

Haha, I'm glad you liked it Mysfytt. Dang vain Lumina, think they're too good for anyone.

Edited by Walker

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Your piece is done rampaging wyvern. It's a bit of a double meaning. The literal fight, but it's also about overcoming his past. I hope you like it~

 

Marked

 

Ferocity of the lion, and pride of the eagle

Claws of the hunter, and wings of the free.

That is all they see when they look at me.

 

I know they are wrong when

I catch a glimpse of myself in the deceptive reflection

Of my “foe’s” scales; my visage is distorted

As if looking into a shattered mirror.

 

All I am is a mass of scar tissue, straining to fly,

weighed down by my long “healed” wound.

 

Lankharra, my “foe,” the fire-breather

Stands like a wall before me,

Ready to attack.

 

There is no beginning to this war.

I have been fighting it within myself for years.

With the first slash of Lankharra’s claws,

He tears open all my old scars.

 

The blood I taste in my mouth is my own

And theirs

Long shed but not dead, at least not to me

Who flew at the spearhead of the flock.

 

He nearly skins me, and by so doing

Frees me of my marked pelt.

Finally, with the scars torn away,

I am free to fly.

 

I rise to his neck, clamp it in my beak,

And crush my “foe.”

 

Farewell, Past.

Wow...that is just...<3 It's utterly spectacular. Here, have another cookie for your great work!

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Dreaming of Daydreams

 

My alarm clock crows a greeting to the morn.

The claws of wakefulness dig into me.

Light seeps through the growing crack

Underneath my eyelids.

 

My first groggy thought

Is that I wish I could wrap myself

In a soft cloud and forget

This silly misadventure.

 

My mind yearns for the place

Where dragons drop fancies from the sky

And I can lose myself

For hours and hours at a time.

 

The cloud castle of the Daydreams

Is the only escape from the harshness,

But wakefulness gently blows away

The last cloudy wisps from my mind.

 

Here, have a poem... thing.

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