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A cocky smirk, a small beret,
An inkwell and a quill;
The words he's written down display
His vast reserves of skill.
A golden book, a feather green,
A flair that's unsurpassed;
His talent and his ego seem
To be equally vast.
An admiration for the one
Who plotted Skarl's downfall;
A thirsting for the stories spun
By Kass; with him enthralled.
A hidden charm, a magic rite,
An Agent at his side;
Permission for the tyrant's light
Within him to reside.
A drawing of the one they sought
To aid them in their quest;
The Ixi brought, her mind distraught,
She bowed at their behest.
A question lit, a hint of doubt,
A body less his own;
Rebellion, if but a sprout,
Within his conscience sown.
A motive split between two sides:
A hero or great fame?
And Kass inside; he must decide
Which one will be his claim.
A fiendish whisper at his ear:
The Three draw tight their trap.
A mind made up, a soul sincere,
But body not in step.
A struggle 'gainst internal foes,
The hero must escape.
The power of his brilliant prose
Is how he'll conquer fate.
A battle fought outside and in
To triumph over Kass.
Atonement for his former sins
In struggle now recast.
A charm destroyed, redemption found,
The gain of two new friends.
The hero of the tale is crowned;
The story's at its end.
A second life -- two years gone past,
A hundred stories told.
The Eyrie now once more is cast;
The saga he unfolds.
A humbled mind, but still as bright;
He's mellowed but not changed.
He's come to narrate, not to write;
The loose ends he's arranged.
A knowing smile, beret still perched
Upon his feathered head.
Some answers told to those who searched
For them within his thread.
A wisdom has inside him grown;
All boundaries he transcends.
For he can see what few have known:
The story never ends.
Tears for My Homeland
Gone are you with the flow of these tears of mine,
how I wish I could say it was something beautiful,
like you were going to be reborn
and soar and live again.
But alas the truth, I find, is so much stronger,
telling me every day in this
Void place that I no longer have
a home in you, but am doomed
to the darkness like a beast
condemned. No oracle, no elder,
could ever tell me if it was
fate, the stupidity of one,
or simply the will of Fyora that
brought the flames down on my home.
I could not watch it
burn, burn, burn for fear
that everything that was once so
good in my home would disappear
from my mind, stolen
by the imps of Moltara
and replaced with the endless fire.
She tells me that I am surrounded,
a flame within a flame --
I am the flame.
Time is sometimes too slow, no hours
or days or years could ever
let it leave so easily, the memory
-- the nightmare -- of my blazing,
burning, beautiful home.
Tell me, Sorceress, if I am
the fire, then why do these
tears come? Why can't they stop?
If I am the flame and
fury, why does my anger not boil --
fierce -- like the monster
that destroyed my home?
Sometimes when I close my
eyes the screaming stops at last,
and I think to myself that
perhaps there has been
too much fire and devastation in
this world, so every time
when I think back I cannot
bring myself to rage,
but instead I choose to cry these
tears for you, my homeland.
Scourge of Scourgies
Lo! There's a plague -- a pox -- upon the pets;
Neopia is running low on vets.
As owners search in vain to find a cure,
Curmudgeons scheme to profit from manure
(er, dung) and other homeopathic
but useless treatments. Idiopathic
infirmities, collectively called Scourgies,
meanwhile continue spreading. Spending 4 Gs
on cures seemed wise until I saw a page
where I could cure my pets -- I can't? The rage!
At least the pets of all my friends will be,
and they will pour hot soup on my wee three.
Hey, wait! The first of Eating is the date?
A plague on TNT! A prank well-played!
Rejoice, DD Is Over!
The Daily Dare is over!
And my fingers sure are aching.
Snowmuncher was a challenge,
But Dubloon left me shaking!
I smacked Kass quite easily,
And I launched that Wingoball.
I had fun with Chemistry,
But Kou-jong made me hit the wall!
And yes, Kookia was fun.
Faerie Bubbles was a blast!
Well, Hab was just a gimme --
But Racers, I finished last!
I'm an ace at Battlefield,
And Exam I beat with ease.
I didn't blink at Bullseye,
But Goparokko was no breeze!
I'm bad at Extreme Herder,
As for Novas, let's just say --
I didn't get that garland,
Though I tried to play and play!
Ah well, at least it's over.
I'll wipe the sweat from my brow.
I'm done playing 'til next year --
Can I have my trophy now?
Daily Dare Blues
March is over, and I say this with woe,
Daily Dare is done and I can't believe it's so.
The event we all loved has come to an end,
no more scores to challenge, beat, and send.
It seems just like yesterday when it all started,
but the sad truth is not long ago it departed.
Oh, the Double Dares and Team Challenges I'll miss,
how I gained a win and filled myself with bliss.
And let's not forget the Staff Tournament,
oh, how the winners came and went.
Cheering on for our favourite teams,
hoping they'd win and fulfill our dreams.
The Daily Dare is surely to be missed,
with games all month and working out our wrists.
But we can wait until it's back next year,
let's get loud, scream, shout, and cheer!
Total Poetry Pages : 2009
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