| Subject: can.we.not.judge.on.character.alone? |
Author:
r.i.d.i.c.u.l.e
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Date Posted: 13:35:57 05/20/02 Mon
And such, the faerie tales awaken again, and such the keeper of secrets will arrise again and open the chamber once more, a light with the magnetude of vengeance that the craver seeks. The ridiculed one will not loose in the power, for she, thus small, will conceivethe might of a mighty zephyr, and over thrown the winds that parell it. She, the lone wanderer, will beckon the mighty Thor upon his Mountain, and seek a rise in the power, to eliminate the forces that were once evident.
The one arrives.
The 'ridiculed'
The vegeant.
The bliss.
You know, that good old faerie tales have no meaning to such the evil at heart, for the minds of fear and pain cease none in the echoing abode of the mythical haven, and the icey caps will not burn, even though they are rested upon hell. The Ridicule has arrived...
Ridicule.
A sweet word indeed.
To echo cunningly.
And bring back.
The everlasting.
Bliss.
Lithe, stalk-like weed grows lowr among the silhuoetted umbrage, in which the black firmament sinks low onto the treaded foliage. Inky black shadows creep up drearily 'mong the patches of cold stone that lay uncovered, as the rustle of feathers evident a new arrival o'er the mountain peak.
the ludicrous one flights momentarily, flashing the flustering, amber ooid o' the equus 'gainst the starry, threaded sky. The bay pelt remains unblemished, though the moonlight scars it with its ray of fright and fury, pirhueotting the soft cynlinder 'cross the sky and unto the abode below.
opaque ooids pierce the darkness, setting afore it a maiden, delicate and fair, thus with the heart of vengeance, and the body of might. Scarcely o'er 15hh, female mirage watches delicately through torn, and matted tressed, gazing intently among the surrounded foliage that lay trampled from the flighted landing o' the loreli.
Would you mind.
If I stay.
For awhile?
My timing will not be short.
If not, I will make a home.
And become, like always.
The mighty.
Though, the respect I crave.
Is set toward the lead.
Where is he?
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