One two three four,
Which of you will open the door?
Five six seven eight,
This door I've come to hate.
Eight among you stand
fast and bound
to your precious morals
but without a land
to call your own,
You're doomed
I'm sure you've found.
Batman said it best
We either die a hero
Or turn out like the rest.
Zeke, M, and Sages of old,
All gone, our tutors dead.
And yet, we make no dent
Still they walk, the Red
And the beasts,
and the fears that lead them.
The Faceless, the Beast,
The Angel, and the FEAST,
The Lonely, and the Height,
The City, and the Right,
The Forgotten, and the Unknown.
Each with their Army,
And us ants before them.
This is why we run
home to our mommy
and to our daddy
But who protects us now?
Who will keep us from the night?
From the demons
We must fight?
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I'm still Alive by the way. A little less than More. No longer in control. Not for more than ONce in a while. Just checking in on y'all. Making Sure you're all alive. Still Treating each othER with respect i hope. I'll read each thiNg in due tiME.
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I'm sorry. Linux is being blatantly obvious. I suppose I should give him somewhat more time.
That first draft is quite out of date by now. I suspect that several of the eight have already been broken, killed, or lost. It shall remain the same in that aspect nevertheless.
The Sages are not gone, so long as I am here.
ReplyDeleteThat there's a monster in you seems obvious even without anything else. I'm sorry.
please kill if you see me. it hurts. don't think escape is possible. don't think it cares too much about communication.
DeleteFine, I forgot you were considered a NEW sage. Always seemed a bit more on the experimental side. I shall rectify the poem to make it more accurate. And he's wrong. He can earn his freedom. He can even live after doing so. The door must open. The door WILL open. Just a question of when.
DeleteI take offense to being called a monster. I'm simply not human. And I use this boy as a host until the door opens and I can re-enter the world.
There's even a guardian. Fancy that.
DeleteOh, look, prophetic poetry, so lovely. The day is coming when there will be no room for poetry, no time for artistry. I pray we have some who can see such beauty when the monsters rise.
ReplyDelete