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We have gone out, we men of Tyrannia
Like battered helmets strewn across stained lands.
Are we to share the fate of rusty armour
Outliving usefulness? Time slips - grains of sand.
They sing for a Lupe, the anonymous hero;
Do they weep us, the war-torn veteran
The nurse with green cross and healing spring
The ghost of buried skeleton?
In dreams I run wildly over an endless plain
Brandishing sword against invisible foe.
Fur bristling, ears pricked, I cannot escape
Cries of comrades, those familiar bellows.
In waking with chills and bitter pangs
I become aware of an unbreakable net
Born of tears and hard-won victory
Woven by those I'd once hoped to forget.
I long for flags and billowing banners
The shouts of celebration on one illustrious day
For only then may I learn to laugh freely
Only then does the ache stay at bay.
The Sad Kougra
Beneath the streaks of cyan and violet
Under the indigo star-struck sky
Lower than the forest's bottom branches
A Kougra sits among the pines
Her eyes are striking sapphire blue
But her fur is grey and bleak
She never has a place to live
Although a home she always seeks
The stars blink and twinkle in the night
Untouched by such great misery
A beautiful scene to greet the eye
Yet only two eyes see
Ever since she was painted grey
Her life only became duller
Now no person wanted her
Because of her coat color
What happiness may have existed
Behind two eyes that are always sad
Why was she abandoned so
When her coat made her owner mad
Yet there's a rustle in the trees
A pair of eyes shine in the gloom
It's an owner who wants the Kougra
"Come on, I have room."
So she joyfully follows him
And becomes a part of his home
No longer is she a wanderer
And no longer does she roam
But alas, the Kougra is still sad
Were her efforts fruitless?
Things only became worse when
Her new owner made her mutant
Wise Old King
Advice intertwines with knowledge
O'er his pleasant brow
He sits atop his golden throne
With a gleaming smile if he will allow
The passers buy for patience
They test him with their mind
Though he is yet to see another
Who is unlike any kind
The information grants him
An ability to foresee
He knows when problems will arise
And who will disagree
His followers bring him gifts
He grants them with good glory
Though while he awaits the moment
The day to find a new story
Endings come to those who wait
He yearns for intellectual gold
Wisdom from those who grasp youth
He wants to avoid being old
The Writers' White Weewoo
Tales of triumphs, tears, and toil
He marks down with his dancing quill
Eagerly awaiting the papers before him, for
Work starts at sunrise, with the dawning day.
Reading through such words of thrill, feathers
Instantly stand on end, as white down against
The backdrop of the lazy lantern's glow, as
Even the day must draw to a close, like the
Renowned works of his favorite authors.
Silently the night creeps upon him,
The stars reveal him,
Working ever diligently, feathers askew
How the stars smile as the merry Petpet winks, from
Industrious perch upon a stack of freshly printed
Times, paper crisp and ink bright. He is
Ethereal at nighttime by the moon's glow-
White as the clouds that obscure that mystical orb
Elusive in the sky, drifting quietly
Even as this tiny wonder lies its head upon
Written works of ventures, a single
Old, worn quill grasped in claws, like a
Once-met, ne'er forgotten friend.
I perch in steamy, torrid woods,
In nature's tallest tree,
My striking plumage, bold as blood,
But still - you see not me.
My eye of wisdom past my years,
Observes you on the ground,
I need no friends, I have no peers,
There's but one of me around.
I loose my grip on gnarled branch old,
And freefall from the sky,
The open wings of bright, unroll,
To escort me up high.
To soar among the yawning clouds,
To fly up like a kite,
A sight to see, I, Faerie Pteri,
Calling out, mid-flight.
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