Post by varda» on Jan 1, 2007 17:09:46 GMT -5
xx sing through xx
xx sing hard xx
xx sing, broken shards of steel xx
aphotic space, voids of nothingness, silence of such life that would spring out of no where could been manifested in mortals' sight. for that's what she is; mortal of significants, malice, and the stench of fatality entombed in such a physic of blood-bathed value that stained from beginning of life and will carry until the end of her days of a mortal. hoping, nay reassuring herself that her steps will be followed, recognized as one of greatness of rayless warmth to those who live. and for those who oppose, abhorrence would tremble such the 'sturdy' hearted that seek such caution of what the darkness displays. imbeciles; they see such greatness yet dispute on to acknowledge such potential yet stick to the teachings, unwritten rules that seek 'goodness'. where is such goodness in this forgotten, fallen world of mortal equines? gone, decimated from those who do not fear to extend and attack with a swing of a flint or a sheer from crimson-painted ivories. soul takers, slewers of mortals that would only deserve the stench of afterlife to those who oppose such powerful ways; the 'darkside' of mortality.
and where is such weapon of destruction? why, look around, plenty of those who desire such purpose, yet a few who know such steps to success and excel their way. i take you to one that does know her way; one that has seen her days yet possess more cycles to come, one that haunts steps over decaying mother earth, and yet one that sees what she is, achieving what she strives and possess great 'immortality' of darkness at the swing of her 'sword', one cursed with such name of misery, blood stained, and a blade to one's heart of light. Zar'roc is her name, one that she carries with arrogant pride and leadership of followers that trod her steps long ago. yet no existence of pride does not follow this one, none that escapes such resent of socializing luxuries, nay she is a ghost, a mere dust of mother earth now, not defeated but cost her life a rhythm of solitude that was needed greatly for her charred soul. oh, sing your lament for the weak, tremble before the ones that are strong, fear what was once and what will come again. expect the Unexpected One that lurks beyond your limits to understand, respect the one that has witnessed what you could not even dream, sing of poetic fate of this One that trods still. scream, for the life of your womb faes of the light, teach, to the life that struggles from their first breath in darkness. for she is here, waiting, harkening for those who spark her interest to reside, control, and lift and smite what was unfinished.
rasps of breath from oxygenators within drew breath from the temptress in waiting, a sign of mortality at its best. movement was nothing in the piercing voids of ebon mists, all was dead, corrupted from what lied in wait. no tune of song, no whispers of life bountied creatures that crawled, slithered or trod. show your face for those who hide as the physique stood in ebony shadowed yet exposed to atmos around. momentum shot through the muscles as contraction and relaxation worked together as the serpentine curved at the arabic inheritance that the wench possessed. obsidians scraped the lithosphere that laid before her presence, agitation and capable abilities hidden behind such clawing. nares that flared took in the minute senses of ones that showed such a small presence then lingered and decomposed into nothingness within the darkness. waiting, watching was her game, huntress of song of grief, the slewed many at the sting of her might. come, show your worth.
xx sing hard xx
xx sing, broken shards of steel xx
aphotic space, voids of nothingness, silence of such life that would spring out of no where could been manifested in mortals' sight. for that's what she is; mortal of significants, malice, and the stench of fatality entombed in such a physic of blood-bathed value that stained from beginning of life and will carry until the end of her days of a mortal. hoping, nay reassuring herself that her steps will be followed, recognized as one of greatness of rayless warmth to those who live. and for those who oppose, abhorrence would tremble such the 'sturdy' hearted that seek such caution of what the darkness displays. imbeciles; they see such greatness yet dispute on to acknowledge such potential yet stick to the teachings, unwritten rules that seek 'goodness'. where is such goodness in this forgotten, fallen world of mortal equines? gone, decimated from those who do not fear to extend and attack with a swing of a flint or a sheer from crimson-painted ivories. soul takers, slewers of mortals that would only deserve the stench of afterlife to those who oppose such powerful ways; the 'darkside' of mortality.
and where is such weapon of destruction? why, look around, plenty of those who desire such purpose, yet a few who know such steps to success and excel their way. i take you to one that does know her way; one that has seen her days yet possess more cycles to come, one that haunts steps over decaying mother earth, and yet one that sees what she is, achieving what she strives and possess great 'immortality' of darkness at the swing of her 'sword', one cursed with such name of misery, blood stained, and a blade to one's heart of light. Zar'roc is her name, one that she carries with arrogant pride and leadership of followers that trod her steps long ago. yet no existence of pride does not follow this one, none that escapes such resent of socializing luxuries, nay she is a ghost, a mere dust of mother earth now, not defeated but cost her life a rhythm of solitude that was needed greatly for her charred soul. oh, sing your lament for the weak, tremble before the ones that are strong, fear what was once and what will come again. expect the Unexpected One that lurks beyond your limits to understand, respect the one that has witnessed what you could not even dream, sing of poetic fate of this One that trods still. scream, for the life of your womb faes of the light, teach, to the life that struggles from their first breath in darkness. for she is here, waiting, harkening for those who spark her interest to reside, control, and lift and smite what was unfinished.
rasps of breath from oxygenators within drew breath from the temptress in waiting, a sign of mortality at its best. movement was nothing in the piercing voids of ebon mists, all was dead, corrupted from what lied in wait. no tune of song, no whispers of life bountied creatures that crawled, slithered or trod. show your face for those who hide as the physique stood in ebony shadowed yet exposed to atmos around. momentum shot through the muscles as contraction and relaxation worked together as the serpentine curved at the arabic inheritance that the wench possessed. obsidians scraped the lithosphere that laid before her presence, agitation and capable abilities hidden behind such clawing. nares that flared took in the minute senses of ones that showed such a small presence then lingered and decomposed into nothingness within the darkness. waiting, watching was her game, huntress of song of grief, the slewed many at the sting of her might. come, show your worth.
-ooc; museless, all over the place, excuse such lack of head XD-
