Masleh
First Post
*A young man in an indigo cloak and courtiers outfit steps out from ....somewhere..else... and looks the tall and lonely tree in every direction. Although quite banaly normal in visual regard; the spirit of the tree is warped and twisted into a massive shape, hungry, oozing blood and loss etched across the poems that line it. The man decides with a grimace that one more will not affect it's emotion torn shape by much, so he selects a thorn to post a rememberance. Slowly the tree shifts back into focus and normality as the man leaves, when you inspect the clear dry parchment you find that it reads-*
They say that still waters run deep,
well I have been called such by some,
so it is My privelage to re-align that myth,
we do not "run" at all.
We are a stagnant kind, although it's hard to tell,
slower are our currents, gods that crawl
wells of swiftly falling, remarkable progressin,
They would be better off keeping their mouths shut.
My even tides offer no evolution.
They would call us teacher
whales however, never showed the sharks to hunt
so it is with our ignored words
we suggest a silence you would break
We imply a quiet you could not stand
so don't blame us when taking the sample you can't swallow
weal of soul, you see, doesn't come without sacrifice of action
They, to be us, must give all of themselves.
Our kind of careless demands nothing less.
If the icy calm, you decide, is for your heart too cold
then feel free to step back into the clay stream.
After-all, many are called but few choose to dream,
Either give or take, neither is silver, neither is gold.
They say that still waters run deep,
well I have been called such by some,
so it is My privelage to re-align that myth,
we do not "run" at all.
We are a stagnant kind, although it's hard to tell,
slower are our currents, gods that crawl
wells of swiftly falling, remarkable progressin,
They would be better off keeping their mouths shut.
My even tides offer no evolution.
They would call us teacher
whales however, never showed the sharks to hunt
so it is with our ignored words
we suggest a silence you would break
We imply a quiet you could not stand
so don't blame us when taking the sample you can't swallow
weal of soul, you see, doesn't come without sacrifice of action
They, to be us, must give all of themselves.
Our kind of careless demands nothing less.
If the icy calm, you decide, is for your heart too cold
then feel free to step back into the clay stream.
After-all, many are called but few choose to dream,
Either give or take, neither is silver, neither is gold.
