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Year 11 Resolutions
Fireworks did light the sky,
As always on New Year's.
Onward to the Y-one-one,
Neopia did cheer.
We'll take with us, as we move on,
Memories of joys we've found...
While leaving 'hind the frowns and tears,
(And old Sloth in token round).
This new year brings a fresh start,
Improvements made along.
What shall be my goal next year,
My resolution strong?
To save those Neopoints every day,
And cut back spending sprees?
I'm lazy, though, and can't resist
Those new "ON SALE" plushies.
What about to help those pets
At tiny Soup Kitchen?
But soup's so good -- I'd eat it all,
And leave none left again.
Perhaps to paint my pets new shades,
Of Darigan or orange faint?
No, no, that won't work;
I'd ne'er decide on which to paint.
I can resolve to train my pet,
Until she's swift and strong.
I don't want a tough pet, though,
Who'd boss me around all day long.
What if I spent time to clean
That dusty SDB?
I've not touched it for a year,
I think I've lost the key...
I pass Roo Island, grumbling,
Glancing at dice games.
New Year's should be without strain...
"I know!" comes loud exclaim.
Nice and easy, yet it'll count,
Above all, no stress involved!
"I resolve, this New Year's Day,
To stop attempting to resolve!"
Bringer of Night
Within a gallery of beasts,
Upon one eerie page,
Depicted is a Moehog's shape,
His form so tensed in rage.
Tusks are tipped in glinting gold,
To match his armour, bright.
A vision of all that is dark,
The Bringer of Night.
Destruction is for what he longs,
It's mayhem that he seeks.
Of horrid things and shadowed worlds,
Is what the Bringer speaks.
A race of Bori were his prey,
He devastated all.
"Beware the Bringer of Night!"
Out went the fear-struck call.
A battle found the Moehog's fate,
And there he met his doom.
Within the desert's golden sands,
Sealed in an ancient tomb.
There he waits in endless sleep,
To reign again, supreme.
To leave the desert lands behind,
With vengeance as his dream.
Bottled Faeries' Plight
Pure evil, writhing darkness,
Caught within the crystal starkness.
Beat against the melded bars,
The unyielding glass that shows no scars.
Screaming in such fierce frustration,
Causing no more than slight vibration.
The dark faerie, trapped.
Shining brightly, a glimmering star,
Annoyed the ensnaring glass does not mar.
Flutter wings, fly up high,
Come back down, heave out a sigh.
Fight the tears that dare to come,
Keep up spirits with a lively hum.
The light faerie, staying strong.
Lighter than dust, quick as can be,
Seized when the Lupe went on a catching spree.
Lying despondent down at the bottom,
Hoping and praying to not be forgotten.
Tried to evade, failed awfully,
Sure the Lupe did something unlawfully.
The air faerie, given up struggling.
Smelling of flowers, dappled with dusk,
Living in forest to the point of being brusque.
Staring about, pinpointing the threat,
Trying not to let fear expose itself as sweat.
Beginning to think, creating a plan,
Wondering if others have already begun.
The earth faerie, waiting alert.
Flaring with courage, leaving scorch marks,
Ignoring the many sarcastic remarks.
Try to knock over the bottle, make it shatter,
Eager to hit the floor with a very loud clatter.
Evident anger radiating from the glass,
Stretching out wings, uncramping at last.
The fire faerie, fighting back.
Glistening with water, undulating tail,
Suppressing a whimper, letting out a wail.
Cutting it off, refusing to dread,
Composing herself, staring ahead.
Turning mind blank, thinking of naught,
Wondering how this tragedy had been wrought.
The water faerie, fearing.
Glory for Shenkuu!
Bright the dawn, hopes are high.
The fans await, the time is nigh.
Gates crash open, all is ready,
Teams arrive, calm, steady.
A flash of scarlet, scorching gold,
The Shenkuu team, look out, behold!
From misty mountains, merchant town,
Five unique, they want the crown.
Rush, excitement, glory, fame,
They're in control, just got to aim.
They shoot to score, score to win,
In or out, out or in.
No breath is heard, no movement, still
The moment perfect, the wait, the thrill...
Sixteen teams, one takes all,
This zealous game of Yooyuball.
Pass and score before time's up,
To see Team Shenkuu claim the Cup!
Upon the clouds, high at dusk,
Stands a shadow, long of tusk.
He gathers his coat of luxurious hair,
Preparing for the climb while the weather was fair.
He grabbed his rope, his pickaxe of stone,
And awaited the calls of the player, alone.
The first was the letter, quite favoured, the 'a'
There was one on the list; the fellow would stay.
But then a 'c', and there was none to be found,
So he took but one step, to the top he was bound.
The player then spoke, asking for an 'f'.
There were two to be found -- a sigh of relief.
Letter after letter was spoken with glee,
And each step he took was taken bleakly.
Finally he came to the edge of the cliff,
With icicles shining, bright but stiff.
Now it was up to the player to choose the last letter,
But what to choose? A vowel would be better.
Alas, no he did not; the player chose a 'b',
And there was none to be found, so leap was to be.
And so, he jumped, rope flailing high!
Falling from the crag, arms waving in the sky!
He took out his pickaxe and struck the cliff face,
And he swung in an arc, with wonderful grace.
So henceforth ends the game of Cliffhanger.
A treacherous game, with the loss to the player.
But our brave hero, the Tuskaninny of old:
Keeps playing to this day --
He has a reputation to uphold!
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