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MonologueMonologue of the Amateur Artist
Sitting here, brush in hand
Pondering colors others find grand
Then a thought comes-- I think today
I shall paint in grey
See, other colors hold too much feeling
and leave my inner-self reeling
That's why I think today
should be painted with grey
The fiery passion of red
burns and hurts my head
Blue is such a depressing hue
And yellow hold not enough mellow
I don't like to think
people would enjoy the color pink
Green is often too keen to be mean
And shining gold is much too brass and bold
Black emotions lack
but so much so that I feel low
White is much too bright
and draw in far too much light
A balance must be found
to make my painting fair and sound
A mixture of white and black
And grey is just that: light and lack
But emotions, other say, are not bad
Oh, but even after the greatest happy comes always sad
So why do we bother
painting the day with color?
All these ups and downs
are enough to paint permanent frowns
upon the faces of the happiest
At Home Beyond the GatesA Home Beyond the Gates
I enter the pearly, white gates
They make no creak or moan
I shut them behind me
And walk the grassy path
To my right, to my left
Both have perfectly straight lines
of modest monuments of marble and granite
On them are etched names of people
These people are displayed just how they died:
modestly, humbly, and imperceptibly
This isn't how they lived, surely
They certainly must have endured life's usual excitements
As I near the end of the path
I come to one farther away from the others
It's monumental in size and decor
And it holds my attention
It has its own gated entrance
and flower beds inside
The onyx marble reflects
the sunlight to my eye
I lay on my back
my head near the stone
The warm sun on m face
The cool grass on my neck
I take in my surroundings
Oak trees near
Pine trees there
And pure, unbroken silence
The only sounds of life
are the wind through the trees,
the elegiac song of the dove of mourning,
and the rhythmic beating of my heart
The Restricted Books Chapter 3Chapter 3-
The Restricted Books: Kurnoya
Once Kukaye left Princess Neveko's room, he stood outside the door and sighed. "Well, I should work on--" but Kukaye was stopped mid sentence as he was grabbed by the arm by a servant who appeared from around the corner. "Hey!" he exclaimed as he was dragged past Blaine, who was standing at the top of the stairs. With a jerk from the female servant clutching his arm, he was pulled down the stairs.
"Now, what does Trotan want that makes you handle me as such?" he growled, pulling his arm free, but still rushing down the stairs with the servant.
"A great king has suddenly appeared on the road toward the castle. His Mightiness wishes for you in his presence," the servant said.
"Fine. Next occasion, I'd like an explanation before being thrown down the stairs," Kukaye sniffed. He continued following the female servant toward wherever King Verane was.
At the top of this stairs still stood Blaine. He stared, wondering at all the commotion beneath him.
The Restricted Books Chapter 2Chapter 2-
The Restricted Books: Kurnoya
Princess Neveko sat in her room with a fiery-orange cat curled up in her lap. She looked down at the cat and smiled slightly. "Kukaye," said the princess, "you are getting a little too comfortable there." She only got light purring in response from the cat. "Okay, I gave you the back rub I promised for telling me where Father was, you can get up now."
The cat she had called "Kukaye" lifted up his head and yawned. He jumped off her lap and became a young boy. He was probably around Neveko's age, as both looked like young adults. He had short orange hair and his ears and tail's colors matched his hair. He wore a dark red tunic and black trousers: a Nekonrian Castle servant's uniform.
"Thanks for telling me where Father was, by the way," Neveko smiled at the boy.
"No thanks are necessary," said the boy in a mature voice. "Your back rubs are worth a million secrets, Lady Neveko." He chuckled and picked a black book up off the floor. He handed it to
Wake UpWhenever aloft on a fantasy of a dream
Always remember that things aren't as they seem
Know that the harshness of reality lies
Ever waiting in front of your closed eyes
Upon awakening you shall find
Poisonous reality, when ignored, is never kind.
The Final BattleThe Final Battle
The birds' even song fade
In the land far from that is man-made
The pearl-like stars twinkle into view
And the peridot moon rises anew
It's a beautiful summer's night
As Kurnoya's lands rest, creatures of the noct lift to flight
No matter, because for now, all lies in peace
Once the burning sun begins its climb, however, this quiet shall cease
Fire shall streak the sky
And lightning shall strike those who cry
And a blade shall rise
For the call of the cries
It shall pierce the evil's heart
And darkness shall Kurnoya part
The quiet and peace that was once possessed only by night
Shall once again spread to the day, now free of plight.
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
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