On a Musing of Blond WilderThe wind has here brought Some mists made from silver Contrast with a river So brightly assumed.On a Musing of Blond Wilder
There once was a boat That sunshine hath crafted That dyed with the colors Forbidden to speak.
The ayre never chanted As sweet as yon eve When into bronze river He kneaded the craft.
And murmured soft river While we rowed along To glimpse at her forest And paint in our minds The metals of tune.
And tenebrous breeze Yet joyfully verdant With the scent of the wild And certain the captive Who dream
SoundbloomTo swoosh down from ayreSoundbloom
And reverberate the twilight.
Brasses beam bloated blaze. Save stealthy silver flutes Who, in the murmuring anteceding quiet, Din charmingly little brazen flashes.
Keys to the claning and bells Lie creaking silently in row, none foretell How they will knell with yon reeded rimes
Yet dormant heard in aeonic winds. (Gusts crackling from the rustling pale tree)
Darkness booms so comfortably and nervously Sweetly suckering the vibrating stillness. Opposed high cyclones, whirling and grinding far above, Descend, ebb a
UndefinedGleaming, A crystal grain With ever-natural luster Descends ever elegantly From the chocking constriction In the dusty, cracked and discolored glass Noted very firmly within the crumbling hourglass.Undefined
Delicately landing, its silver pulse Shines throughout the infinite agglomeration Offering its infinitely small orison to shine like a beacon Mourning the death of the forever-counting miniscule unit
Effervescing and deceased within amalgam of chaos and numbers.
9:36:23 and 871 milliseconds Pacific Daylight Time of May 5th Two Thousand Nine Ano Domini has passed
SageThe vibrant brass waves of timé clash With the stýgian mists of the wolfSage
Sith blôwn the ancient winds Ne’er defièd with unsacred whims
Lest thine heroes break from the everturning clôcks of the North And snap within the deep wilderness, the eye … Canis
“And to think those imbicile humans would write When their world is in such a fright With their poisoning of something forth conjurèd Y-clept with their quîvîring whims, easily read
But rest I here beat by the runic dunes of time And with the
Rien~ Rien ~Rien
Je m’appelle Rien.
Je n’ai pas de sexe, je n’ai pas d’âge, je n’ai pas d’histoire. Ce que je vous raconte ici, ce n’est qu’une ombre de son histoire à elle, une vague poussière trop petite pour faire tâche, un petit grain insignifiant dans l’infini de son paysage luxuriant et captivant. Personne ne me voit, personne ne m’entend.
Elle a dix-huit ans, l’âge où tout est possible, où tout ne demande qu’à éclairer son visage et ses souvenirs. Tout est mon ennemi, je ne pourrais jamais le vaincre
HeroHe sits alone in his room dreaming of being more he dreams of times that have never existed outside of a book he closes his eyes and he says 'I want to be a hero'Hero
She sits alone thinking about everything wishing she had someone to save the day someone that doesn't exist inside her world she closes her eyes and she says 'I need a hero'
They sit alone within sight of each other wishing for something that will never be wanting what is just
out of reach they close their ey
Sanctification
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