Nyyark

Can you hear it? That laughter, The laughter on the wind. A cry of Joy, The sound of a friend. I knew you first, in this lonely land. The first friend, to offer me her hand. Now when I see, the Sun’s light, It reminds me, of the sight, The first kind look, yours alone. The first kind look, welcoming me home. Can you hear it? That laughter, The laughter on the wind. A cry of Joy, The sound of a friend. How is it you bring shame to the Moon, When your friendship far outshines it in the gloom. How can you be, and not be forever. With a heart so pure, like liquid silver. Can you hear it? That laughter, The laughter on the wind. A cry of Joy, The sound of a friend.

Bursting into the tower hall, Nyyark exclaims "Crow! the Dojo Ninja Dance Club, they-" "Kaaa!" (There's no time for that now, the party has started) Caws Crow. "But-" Nyyark is interuppted by a familiar beat. Without thought his body moves, performing the ritualistic motions of the Macarena. "Bop ba ba ba Bap ba ba ba Bop ba ba ba ba..."

While Crow is busy leading in the cleaning of the large keep, Nyyark is found plastering posters on the walls of the many rooms in the Pen. They read: As he plasters his last poster, there is a sharp flash, and then a *THUD*. Nyyark turns to find a knife with a note impaled on it sticking out of the wall. Whirling around, he sees an open window, with curtains flapping in the breeze. Yanking the knife out of the wall, and he mutters under his breath as it clatters to the floor. Nyyark retrieves the knife, and pulls from it the note. Written in watery red ink, it read: It was signed:Dojo Ninja Dance Club Yet again the knife clatters to the floor. "Dojo Ninja Dance Club," Nyyark says in a trance. Although they were some of the best ninja dancers in the world, with them comes the intense rivalry of the second best. The second best dancer is kicked out of the Dojo, and is always stalking Dojo members, waiting for the chance to defeat the prize student and maybe the Dojo Dance Master in a glorious battle of the dancers. It helped to keep them on their toes. "Dancing Ninjas. My first party and there's going to be dancing Ninjas," Nyyark moans to no one, "Why, oh why..." Snapping to his senses Nyyark hides the dagger, and pockets the note. "I have to hurry back to warn Crow!"

Conversion Confusion - THIS IS THE ORIGINAL THREAD STARTING POST. Grey Butterfly Riding dark against the sky, Always listening, For your song long missing. Seeking, Your eyes are roaming, Never speaking, But your heart is moaning. Grey butterfly, Who will not sigh, Whose empty pools called eyes, Are long since dry. What you are seeking, Is behind you now, In a meadow Long since plowed. On moonlight you ride, Running from pain only darkness will hide. Through the shadowy forests you soar Looking for that which is no more. Live Grey Butterfly, Live! Seek not which no longer is, You have life now, Cherish it, be Glad, Do not waste it, Like the life that you had. Grey Butterfly, What you seek is behind, Lost in a cocoon, Forged on a vine. Grey Butterfly, This life is your last, Don’t lose it, Searching for the Past. Live Grey Butterfly, Live. Grey Butterfly, Please do not die. ~Nyyark, Page of the Pen, Keeper of Crows

Cool!!! Those kind of people really bother me too, so I could relate well. Very uplifting. It was really well written, and I enjoyed reading it. Well done Falcon2001, really well done.

Deep and dark is the roost of Nyyark, The Tower of Nythtyrdal. Jet black jewels jet about the grooves, Carved into the tower walls. Lovely crows, the only friends he knows, That will abide in his halls. Oh Nyyark, Nyyark, you died your hair black. Nyyark, Nyyark, you're to blame for that. Nyyark, Nyyark, your eyes are not grey, that's only the color they see everyday. A sitting stone, atop an icy throne, His face as cold as the grave. To him light is as black as night, Life a perpetual cave. Freedom's not sought, for himself he's caught, Can't even tell he's away. Oh Nyyark, Nyyark, you died your hair black. Nyyark, Nyyark, you're to blame for that. Nyyark, Nyyark, your eyes are not grey, that's only the color they see everyday. Gifted with size, Crow sits at his side, Watching his lines blurring. Watching with worry, hoping uncertainly, That he will be returning. It is in vain, apathy easier than pain, and Nyyark's soul is burning. Oh Nyyark, Nyyark, you set your own trap. Nyyark, Nyyark, you hid your own map. Nyyark, Nyyark, why do you stay, You're the guardian keeping you at bay. Every day he seeps away, Starving away his yearning. A gnawing hole, it eats a his soul, Icy fire consuming. Hour by hour, in his secluded tower, Comfortably dying. Oh Nyyark, Nyyark, you died your hair black. Nyyark, Nyyark, you're to blame for that. Nyyark, Nyyark, your eyes are not grey, that's only the color they see everyday. -Nyyark, Page of the Pen, Keeper of Crows

The Stylist of the shop opened at three. All the colors, they called to me. "Come in" they say, "Come In" So in through the door I did make passage. Stopping, it seemed, I could not manage. "No sin" they say, "No Sin" Eyes met mine from behind the desk, A modern lady in a modern dress "Begin" they say, "Begin" "What have ya, Joe?" she asked with a flick of the eye. "The Usual" I said, my usual reply. "Again" they say, "Again" So I sat in a seat of brown padded leather, She rubbed her hands to work up a lather. "A trim" they say, "A Trim". Edited by: Nyyark at: 2/2/02 4:38:02 pm

Wow, I belive you really captured the pain of wanting to be loved. Hate Instead well captures an aspect of love not often thought about. I think that anyone who has trouble understanding "I hate you even more because I love you" should read this poem. Well done.

Oh I want you, Cold landscape in the dead of winter Oh I want you, Hazy plain, all is withered Oh I want you, Still as death, clear and placid Oh I want you, Quiet Lake, with logical acid Oh I want you, Bleached Bones on a wind swept mountain Oh I want you, Cold and blue, free of habitation Oh I want you, Icy rock in the heart of space Oh I want you, My rationality, my escape You call to me, my black and white umbrella Why not shelter me, from this emotional tarantula It’s ensnaring me, like a crow in its web I can’t be free, I’m immobile, I’m dead. Oh, Go away, Go Away, GO AWAY! Oh I want you, Cold landscape in the dead of winter Oh I want you, Hazy plain, all is withered Oh I want you, Still as death, clear and placid Oh I want you, Quiet Lake, with logical acid Oh I want you, Bleached Bones on a wind swept mountain Oh I want you, Cold and blue, free of habitation Oh I want you, Icy rock in the heart of space Oh I want you, My rationality, my escape Why must I take this painful tirade It hurts so much, I must be unmade Stop tempting me, with the cold light of day. Leave me logic, oh rationality, you must go away Oh, Go Away, GO AWAY, AWAY! Oh rationality, just let me be. I can see, I’m alive emotionally. You’re death, and Oh I want you, But life is now what I must do Oh I want you, Cold landscape in the dead of winter Oh I want you, Hazy plain, all is withered Oh I want you, Still as death, clear and placid Oh I want you, Quiet Lake, with logical acid Oh I want you, Bleached Bones on a wind swept mountain Oh I want you, Cold and blue, free of habitation Oh I want you, Icy rock in the heart of space Oh I want you, My rationality, my escape That world is forsaken, you are not real. You must be mistaken, there can be no deal I understand, but you’re oh so sweet. Now I left you, and can handle defeat. Go away. Edited by: Nyyark at: 2/2/02 4:42:32 pm

Dark is the sky profiling the tree, Clouds eat even the stars. Devoid of grass, the ground spreads like death. Twisted and cold the tree waits, Not knowing why it survives. Then a shimmer appears in the folds of darkness. A moonbeam lances its way to a leaf, And the leaf feels its silvery glow. And burns with ache. For in this cool liquid light, The leaf remembers the sun's burning, And the memory of the fire of life races through its sap. The twisted heartwood straightens, and the limbs thicken, To please the fair Moon, And prepare for the return of the Sun. Edited by: Nyyark at: 1/2/02 11:46:59 am

“Crow!” Nyyark called, painfully dropping to his knees, raw with rope burn. “Are you alright? What’s going on?” His stomach lurched as he looks around. More carrion than The Five Flocks could eat. Re-evaluating the large number of ex-crows he wondered if there are still five flocks. “Oh Crow…” but he was cut off a flashing flurry dark wings and black talons, which hastily make off with her. “Look at this,” Nyyark gestured to the battlefield, “I told you it wouldn’t end well.” his voice dropped to a whisper “I told you it wouldn’t end well.” “All this,” Nyyark thought, “just to get into The Pen.” The Pen! Crow had said he made it. “I wonder if there’s some sort of ceremony?” wondered Nyyark, “I hope so, I need something to take my mind off this. I can forget this. I can…” Meanwhile… In the plains of Nyth, a mole clawed its way out of its ground. It betrayed its paranoia by glancing over its shoulder, then it opened its mouth. Its mouth kept opening. Suddenly a crow leapt out, hopped twice, then shot off. It flew rapidly, darting through the air. Searchingly the crow scanned the horizon for the large dead tree it desired. Then it navigated through the tree’s branches and landed lightly on one scarred with talon markings. Three hollow thuds resounded off the trunk, then the crow sat back and waited. The section of trunk immediately before the crow swung inward, and he was greeted by another crow. “Come Kastar,” he croaked, “and tell us what you have learned.” Kastar proceeded into the trunk, and down to The Jets Underground HQ, an extremist group formed during Crow-Chimera war, hating all multiple headed creatures, especially chimeras. Kastar motioned all of his fellows near with a sweep of his wings. Murder burned in his black eyes. “The enemy’s name,” cackled Kastar, “is Sossity.” Edited by: Nyyark at: 12/24/01 10:32:50 am

Sitting on a large stone mound/throne, a lanky youth finishes scrawling hastily onto a parchment. He has long straight midnight black hair, which on close inspection appears to be artificially colored. He matches this with black thin wispy sheet clothes. Which are draped about his shoulders and arms giving the effect of wings. His face is quite typical, hold two aspects: He has a slightly paler complexion than most (lack of sunlight most likely), and really cool looking silver contacts, which hide the birth-color of his eyes. This is Nyyark, and he is about to apply for The Pen. "Crow," Nyyark calls. "Kaaa?," she replies. "Take this as the crow flies to the The Pen is Mightier than the Sword, and let them know I wish to enter" Nyyark exclaims, laughing at his own crow humor. Crow just rolls her eye. Crow hops over and takes the scroll into her beak, then takes off in large fluid flaps. "Now where is this place I'm to go," wonders Crow, "Well lets see... I guess I need to figure out where the pen is mightier than the sword. Hmm... On an executioners block, with a writ of pardon, In The capitol, where the pen lays the laws, and on a James Bond set." So Crow flies to all of these places, but as the writ is presented so is a note "Sorry The Pen has moved to a new location", and in clause 28 of the recently signed bill the same was stated. Last but not least as Bond uses his pen to escape the pit of whirling swords, Crow dejectedly find the same words. Where where where... Oh, of course. In the hand of a writer. So Crow goes back south to Nyyark's migrating tower, Nythrildal. Nyyark looks up in surprise. "Crow are you done." "Ka" states Crow. "Ok" says Nyyark, "I'll hold a pen" Then a as he plucks up the pen a gate opens to The Pen. Crow quickly hops in. Inside she finds an elderly man and hops over to him. "Kaaaa" she says. He looks puzzled, but take the parchment offered. It appears to be a entance form, in poem form. Darwin's Parabola The crow pecks thrice and began: Peck, Pecking, Chip, chip Chips the rock Chips rock Potato chips like rocks stale, stall, pig stall, pig sty, blue pig, pig's eye pig says "Just Remember..." but its never done fusion like the sun Beacon Bacon Beckons Frogs. Leaping, splashing, swimming, dancing Wet watery waltz Water waltz See water waltz Water waltzes well Waltz, water, waltz Water waltz Water Falls Falls, falls Falls that never end. A lasting signal of end is Ironic Ironic Iron-Hic! A massive man of metal, Gears like a Machine, Has a machete, Its never clean. He knows where you roost He doesn't like crows He gets his masseuse And the Crows he... Salutations number 39 Its a pea pod what? three pea pods Pea pods spore pods more pods explorer pods pods in space like astroships astro-ships Potato Chips! Chips Chip, chip, chip And the crow pecks thrice and ended. The elderly man looks up just in time to see Crow vanish back through the portal.

There is a crow that sits on a throne. It no longer flies, But sits, Consuming the trash of the kingdom. Its crowish cry beckons its loyal servants, As lovingly as mold embraces a pear. And they come running and crawling, And are made to be on all fours, As if to hide the fact, That they are far more men than he. Then the crow on the throne extends his wings, And they are glossed a shiny black, But no amount of polishing can clean, The darkness of disuse. Then he extends his claws, cruel talons, That never once tore anything but human flesh. They are cleaned and polished, But will never be As nice the calloused hands that clean them. Then he will turn his cold watchful eyes To his lovely bride, Who smiles at him warmly, For he alone has her eyes, Having eaten them and left her blind To all the world around her. Just as all who come close, To the crow that sits on a throne.