Journal ... Do you enjoy poetry?
Journal,
I do love reading poetry, but there are few collections I can really find. Don't be jealous, I like reading you too, so I am going to put some poetry in and keep you at the top of my interest list. A jealous journal makes for a stressful entry. So here, tell me what you think.
(These poems are not my actual work, but they fit what Rya thinks. They might have been taken from books ICly, but I am saying now that they are not my own work. I am planning, however, some poetry of my own to go up soon enough. ^.^)
O Fortune,
variable as the moon
always dost thou wax and wane.
Detestable life,
first dost thou mistreat us,
and then whimsically,
thou heedest our desires.
As the sun melts the ice,
so dost thou dissolve
both poverty and power.
Monstrous and empty fate,
thou, turning wheel, a
art mean, voiding
good health at thy will.
Veiled in obscurity,
thou dost attack me also.
To thy cruel pleasure
I bare my back.
Thou dost withdraw
my health and virtue;
thou dost threaten
my emotion and weakness with torture.
At this hour, therefore let us
pluck the strings without delay.
Let us mourn together,
for fate crushes the brave.
So, do you like? I don't know, it might not be right. But that is okay since I don't plan on ever letting the rest of the world know. It will just be you and me ... oh ... and that damned demon who keeps getting into you. Why can't you hide my words from him? anyway ... here.
Oh gentle winds 'neath moonlit skies,
Do not you hear my heartfelt cries?
Below the branches, here about,
Do not you sense my fear and doubt?
Side glistening rivers, sparkling streams,
Do not you hear my woeful screams?
Upon the meadows, touched with dew,
Do not you see my hearts a'skew?
Beneath the thousand twinkling stars,
Do not you feel my jagged scars?
Seek not my mournful heart kind breeze,
For you'll not find it 'mongst these trees.
It's scattered 'cross the moonlit skies,
Accompanied by heartfelt sighs.
It's drifting o're the gentle rain,
A symbol of my silent pain.
It's buried 'neath the meadow fair,
Conjoined with all the sorrow there.
It's lost among the stars this night,
Too far to ease my quiet fright.
No gentle winds, seek not my heart,
For simply ... it has torn apart.
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Shorok Morien, Mist
Shorok Morien, Mist Walker; At your service.....
--Purrs at the words, opening open a book of what some would say nothing at all.. The demon, takes an invisible quill and writes a response. Written in red ink, very powerfull strokes. Not fitting of the elvish language--
"Because my sweet dear Softskin. Your beautifull mind, and heart. Are one of the few in the world that plainly accepted me. This makes you special! So I will continue to speak to you, and through your little friend..Till I discover why we have such a connection"
--Shorok smiles at the words he inscribed. Invisible to all but his minds eye. He gently blows on the ink and closes his *journal*...As the words are inscribed into Moriurya's pages on the other end--
Shorok Morien, Mist Walker; At your service.....
(( Nice way of describing
(( Nice way of describing how Shorok is doing it! ^.^ ))
--No response is inserted back to the red ink, though a few drips of ink below it would hint to someone having a quill over it and ready. Rya sighed as she looked at those words in red. I accept him because I have to, because I am not strong enough to banish him, because I am too peaceful to ruin someone's small amount of happiness they may have. But still no words on the page, no words of this fear to the demon of which it speaks of.--
(( We don't need to do another journal debate because they are "texting" in a sense ... and so the characters don't know what emotions are going with what words. ))
-~-~-~-~
(( If roleplaying as a Sin'dorei makes the roleplayers writing horrific, it must be painful to even read this comment. ))
"No one is something just because they say they are something."