Hidden 3 yrs ago 3 yrs ago Post by Song Book
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Writing for The Labour challenge that won't be finished but oh wlelllll

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Long live the warrior kings.
Long live the young lovers dreams.
Long live the tales of great adventures.
Long live the great golden pastures.
Long live the ghosts on the night.
Long live the hero's fight.
Long live the shifting brease.

Long live the writers wings.
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We can't see what they see.


We can't see what they all see when we work together.

The fluid motions
The silent gestures,
Working and everything going as planed.

A subtle sign,
We miss it every time.
A playful shove,
Is not enough,
To open up our eyes.
We make the perfect pair.

The subconscious flirting,
They say it is,
One jokes the other laughs,
One remembering what the other forgot,
Knowing smirks during raging battles.

Or that's what they say.

We don't observe what they do.

We'll never know what they know,
When they watch us,
We seemed complete.

But at last it will never be,
We can never see what they see.
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He's very much so a drip in the sky.
A storm rolling past to me,
as I can be the lightning shooting between the clouds.
The thunder rolling over the hills to him.
Hazy lightning spears,
Clashing between the soaking swords,
We weild forever at battle

Together quite the perfect storm
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Jealous

Like the night soaring up above,
And the callous wave to shore a shove.
Sinking deep below the jelous tide,
Unable to choose or pick a side.
An empty pit with hardend walls,
Refilling with the grace of waterfalls.
Floating just high enough,
So my feet no longer touch.

Only for my strangled voice to call,
To be ignored for it being to small.
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His eyes the storm.

His eyes thundered and swirled,
with a genious I can barely perceive.
For those few minutes
I was a sailor adrift in his storm.
Both unable
and unwilling
to look away
from the waves and the clouds.
Falling back in love with his rain
when the lightning struck.
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Card house

I live in a card-house
A strong wind could blow me down
Or even a light breath.

Its hard enough
To build
Without shaking hands
The voice like fingers
Around my neck.

I wish i could afford
Better materials
So it wouldnt fall so easily

But card supply
Is so low
Too expensive
I spend
All my time
Rebuilding
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In Sidereal.

The sea raged in wild discontent,
For the lonely night,
In her jelous spirit,
once again
had begoten the stars to replace such the moon.
The moon,
fare lune
Whose love was the sea.
Would not fully return for days.
In such times,
It would be naught to sail,
From any harbor on such
A coastal ni rocky shore,
Till the stars allow her to return.
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The Fall
​
What is this feeling called again?

Often it presents a heavy heart,
Weighing down every flick on the wrist.
That describes some of it.

Some have told me that it is an inkling,
Something terrible is bound to happen.

Life is going too well right now.

At any second the fabric of my safety net is going to disintegrate beneath me.

That my perch on this building is gonna be tested with a precisely mistimed shove.

That maybe this time I won't catch myself.
Maybe I'll just let myself fall.
See how long until I reach the bottom.
Counting seconds I guess, but I mean who is going to judge that.
Maybe I'll land on a balcony.

And the owner will patch me up send me back on my climb
with a warning’ not to be so reckless.
Maybe I won't feel the pavement.
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Head in the clouds

The world was soft today,
drifted down from the senseless shapes,
and pushed through by winged forms,
to form whisps once-again.

The classroom was loud,
with sounds of distractions frowned upon,
by teachers,
who are more gentle and softspoken,
to get my attention.
Though the scenes outside,
hold my more significant intentions.
To pay attention.

Darkened shapes,
heavy intentions,
the release,
the let-down,
the bell rings,
as my thoughts drift back away,
from the scene outside to the empty class,
in which I sit.
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Blue

His eyes thundered and swirled,
with genius,
and the fire
of heavy rains,
fog over the blue,
A downpour.
enough to drown me alive,
if I don't swim to stay above,
the raging of his sea.

For those few minutes,
I was a sailor adrift in his storm,
The flashes of light,
the inspiration in his words,
the deep blue of fury,
of his disappointment.

Both unable,
and unwilling
to look away.
From the waves
and clouds.
Falling back in love,
with his rain.
when the lightning struck,
Light in the dark blue.

This builds off an earlier poem and changed the theme a bit towards a prompt of a color.
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It was now we began to expand our reach of influence on thsoe in our surrounding such which we would be payed hommage in our eternal comforts and such that in our work they instead will toil and benifits of then such trickle onwards back down so that their own burden be levied and our efforts in further expansion and intellectual beginnings blossom and suceed.
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