Flamewing

So: I decided to put up that one poem I probably should not put up. Ah, well.

Flamewing
By:
Moonstone Angelfire
(Names are by Jessica Day George)




Sun-golden and glinting scales
Prodigiously bright, everlastingly shinning
Hoping, wondering, hoping, wondering
If Azure-wing is still a-flight

Hovering, soaring above the clouds
A-dancing, a-dancing wishing to feel
The pain upon her chest always there
Shall it ever go away?

Cousin of the Gold, always green
Is he smitten with the freed one?
She who is ruby and he who is emerald
Who knows…but he is expecting hatchlings

Claret; heart of bullion
Loves Ruli as if her own
Sweet on jade flier
Has freed nine including bronze

Hatchlings clutch her tail, wrapped around
Her bronze head held high, she perches
Right alongside her love Amacarin,
She tilts her horns to the left to think

Blue-gray flyer swooping high
He flies, he dives, he thinks
Protects hatchlings for bronze mother
Treats as own, willing and loving

Shoe covering ground and floor, walls and sides
Collector has deceased, but friends remain
Fell from sky, heart of arrows
Grudges held, especially by the blue-gray one

With her sunlight horns, she appears brilliantly bright
Swooping, sailing from the conflagration
Green glinting as she skimmes the water
With Leontes and her four hatchlings by her side

And now…the last
Forlornly, unforgotten
Due to the excruciating pain
He has heeded

Polished silver bleached to white due to alchemy
Abhorrence alienated him from Gold
In love with Azure-wing, forever more
Killed so many and yet could still subsist without atonement

But the Gold fought him to the demise
Crying in pain, he crashed in the light upon the wall
The Golden King ripped his throat…so close to death
Velika Azure-wing whispers and all is tacit

Hell of a Time

Hm...Well, today was...somewhat not really enjoyable. Climbed the hill behind our house which is still property (natural rights), and tried climbing further, but slipped on some raw {dirt} and fell, which resulted in banging into this huge tree which, by the way, is old. And by telling you this, I want you to be able to picture a large trunk with many branches. Envision those many branches with many, many branches of its own. Then think about those many, many branches from the many branches on that large trunk having many, many, many branches; and so forth. So as one may ponder about this for hours at hand, I on the part, will continue. Getting snagged on a tree with so very many points, is not as bad as one may think. It is worse. Being thrown backwards and then being smothered with dull green leaves is...no fun. Unless, of course, you enjoy being thrusted from your original stance to hanging limp in a oversized tree, dangling to your death of sores and pains. One must choose and see if he would rather go the way of pain or the way of joyous fun. Choose quickly now. Getting to the point, while I was being cut buy twigs, I was thinking about my friend's reactions to me being supposedly {emo}. Something to tell you all. While one may think of {emo} as cutting yourself up because you feel so sorry for your self and you may just let all the pain out cause the one you {love} doesn't {love} you anymore and thinks you are some rotten [insert fowl language here], others oppose. I for instance, believe being {emo} does not exists except for two things. One: {emo} means emotional. Meaning you may be emotional about your lover breaking up with you and then going off with someone else. And usually that someone else is someone else you hate, and would love to see them in a shredder (no names). So, you would be {emo}tional about how that lover tore you apart and now you feel so alone and hated. Which may be of course why some {emo}tional people feel the need to express that hatred on themselves or another thing (i.e., a person, place, or thing). That second thing is emotional. As in music. It is but a genre. But a word used to express a type of sound made when one: either singing or two: playing some type of musical object. Could be anywhere from the piano to a broken beer bottle. You could also express yourself with these objects. So to conclude this awfully boring but evil little blog, I will say this: Although you all may think you are normal to this life, I disagree. You are not normal; far from it. You are dangerous. So dangerous that you can kill. Kill, kill, kill. All day long in you happy, care-free world. But I will also tell you this. It will not stay care-free for long. You will drown in those words. You will drown and never know what hit you. Or sank you.

What to write?

Yes, hello there? Um...not sure what to do here. Just thought I would pop in and type something. I guess. Well, some of you are probably wondering why I chose Wicked Fine... And if you're not... lucky you. If you really truly want to know, just ask dearie Sophia. Or not. it is more of those {inside joke} things. Ah, well. And Bananaphobia comes from, well, Bananaphobia.