Author:
Adder
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Date Posted: 19:23:57 11/22/02 Fri
.:|Contemplations|:.
Where is that heaven-sent mare? Has the glory of the
midnight sky faded with the daybreak? One would think the
shadow would become evident in the day, yet morning comes
and I have yet to find she whom I seek. Will I be fated to
lose another love? How I hate the sun.
.:|Seeings|:.
The sun filters through the canopy of misty nubles, warming the masculine's pelt but chilling his heart. Chilling zephyr picks up foliage suspended from outstretched arms of a nearby tree, tugging relentlessly at the resistance of the strong summer heat. Mirages rise upon the faded horizon, an ever evident reminder of the past that stung so. Emerald hewn scythes whipped, driven by the winds to slice at any being in their radius. Lone virile stands on horizon, flame licked ebony coat glistening in the first blushing rays of light.
.:|Doings|:.
Belligerent sahib lifts his flint high above the terrain, bringing it down in front of him. Irascible vagabond sequentially repeats the process, hesitating every odd step to hurl his framea skyward, once again cursing the wretched firmament, but differently. Ferocious vocalizations reach a low tenor pitch, sailing across the heavens and threatening the sun. The titan submits to the heresy of the gravitational pull, unwilling to admit that he cannot alight and fly to the heavens. He must be content with the earthen prison he was so ruthlessly chained to. Traveling every acre of land was not enough for him, and his non-expanding horizons were the very pains of his cruel, torturous existence. A bucking bronc could own a vast terrain, as he did, but they could not own the sky. They could only throw themselves upward and lash out at its euphoric cerulean glow, to be restrained by the privation and fatigue of life on this bitter planet. As the saying goes, a bird might love a fish, but where would they live? He intended to break that curse of segregated racism, keeping him on earth and his inamorata forever etched into the skies. Vexed suzerain orally chained the blasphemous deity so called Pegasus. The beast had but two differences from the liege that stood lashing out with stone razors. Two white wings. Yet these heretic appendi were enablers, denied the blood stained behemoth who was called unworthy. He had fought well for the right, yet the fates determined the weak and pitied the license to deny gravity, while he was chained to that law. He landed hard upon the humus, indenting the ground as he started to run. Four-beat, four-beat, four-beat, three. Four-beat, four-beat, four-beat, three... so his life had been, and so it would always be. He called out to fair maiden christened StarShadow.
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