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My BeastA tame leopard
Sweetly sitting at my feet,
The ever present danger
That the beast would turn
Rip my throat out,
This beast eats lazy
From my palm.
Rubs my hand for more scratches
Under those powerful jaws.
Tonight, it is not the beast,
But my beast.
Curled silently on my bed,
Purred as I,
A tendered human,
Wrapped weak arms
Around the furry body.
My beast is my danger
And my danger is the only
Comfort I have left.
The rainbow of the living
Dancing brightly upon the clouded ground,
Ancient dance of the wild one,
One I wish to be
Each one knows its part,
Newborn, just of a day,
Stallion of light
Seeming to have lived forever
Painted across them
Rays of a chilling sun,
Newly born for this day,
They seem to dance on clouds,
Had taken their morning rest.
Though never seen spying on that dance
Beautiful waltz of the herd.
Even though I may never join them,
My heart longs to along beside them.
I know I cannot join the rainbow in its performance.
I belong in the audience of persons,
Watching the mottled horses trace the morning skyline home.
Bloody palmsHere I stand with palms bloody from nights spent offering everything I am.
The scars I bear are self inflicted,
All the things I loathe of me.
A power struggle of dark and light
Never understood, let alone chosen sides.
When hands drip bloody, the need is for some one to bind them for me
But all I can do is stand here alone.
All I can do is heal
And then scar myself again
Do something that shows you recognize me
But realize one thing
You can't change me,
This is who I am
Just an 18 year old not yet woman
With scars no lady would bear.
Boxes, Smirnoff, and RibbonsA mother, draped on her grown child's bed,
Clutched navy velvet boxes.
While barely adults sleep
Stiff in black vinyl bags.
Gold bands on neck
Soaked in stick and salt,
As wives drip onion drops
On daughter's eyes
And husbands dive into Smirnoff.
Plaques on walls,
Letters read "Honor,"
And fathers nail yellow ribbons
My dearest HermioneMy dearest Hermione,
The rays of the sun perfectly strike the strands of your golden brown hair. Making it seem like you are wearing a crown of light. This never fails to dazzle my eyes. Sometimes I think that the crown you wear is most deserving of you. Since you are, indeed, the most perfect creature in the world. Smart, beautiful and a bit feisty if I may say so.
I write this letter to you knowing that, at present, I cannot seem to make personal contact with you. Certain circumstances prevent us from openly being with each other. You do not know of the many times I've tried. I have decided to end it now. To end this unsatisfied hunger of love from driving me to insanity.
I ask you now to meet me at the North Tower at exactly 10 pm of tomorrow.
I'll be waiting.
The One Who Loves You
The one who loves you. This thought echoed in Hermione'
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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