Mira

Sounds good, but how did you record that? I've been trying to figure out a method for months.

The few remaining citizens grow quiet after Hisoka's accusation. The hollow silence seams to only magnify the enormity of this days decision. If any of them were going to survive , one of the beasts would have to be delt with before dawn. And then, as if by magic, a single sound breaks the silence. The distinctive sounds of the Biwa can be heard drifting from somwere nearby. The four follow the music to its source. "Shijin!" they all gasp. "Please, allow me to explain." he says before they are able to ask their questions. "When the Honorable Cha-iro was found dead, I feared to speak-up and single my self out. From the very start I had the feeling that something was different about the style of his assasination, and when Lord Washima was killed in the same fassion I knew my fears were valaid. I hid hopeing to avoid what I could not. Now you have found me and I know that two of you are beasts and two allies. We must make a choice soon on who is who." "My vote is for Hisoka, for only a beast would vote for the one that is most likely inocent. And if I am wrong, my friends, I fear we will not survive long."

Wow! Quill-Bearer. Thanks alot all. I know I haven't posted anything for a week or so, mostly due to a sudden busyness in my life as well as an aparent slump in insperation, but I plan to be back real soon.

This should be titled #32 This one started as something completely different. Somehow I still breath, Though I've lived more lives then I'm entitled, And spat in Death's eye too many times. But each time I return from the precipice of death, I shake the dust off of myself, And hop back in the fray. Though I've seen more horrors then I'm entitled, And know first hand the irony of it all. I've seen the young die while the old remain, And children bathing in a puddle At the bottom of a blast crater. And though I've traveled thru hell more times then I'm entitled, So that I've come to see it as a second home. Where the lead breeze whistles Thru the pitch-darken ruins, And He waits for me around every turn. But today, Somehow I still breath.

This poem gives me the image of a mother whispering a lullaby to her sleeping child, while the repetition of the line "Walk gently, dearest" adds to the poems sense of rhythm and meter. A good read, especially since I am now headed to bed.

I can't tell you guys how much I appreciate this kind of feedback. Just one clarification note that might add a little something. In the third stanza, first line that reads "And it seems the whole worlds is plastiqued up" Plastique is a word referring to plastic explosives or C4. I did, however, intended that it be interpreted the way Hopperwolf did.

I have written some fairly political poems lately and decided that I needed to take a little break so I don't burn myself out. Here is the result. Rain, rain, go away. But what happens when the rain just stays? And pours... And pours... And pours somemore. To drench you down below the skin. To wash away all you love. To break this storm there is no dove.

Ever heard of the term “Approximate Rhyme" Just kidding. Your suggestions and comments have been noted.

I have mixed feelings about this poem. I feel like somehow I strayed from the original idea, and I might just have to come back and rewrite some of this. Is anything left that's real In this world of love and sin? Is there anything left at all That's worth believin' in? Is everything we use to hold, So very dear within our heart, Been replaced with the progress stain, And left behind to fall apart. And why do we, the melting pot, Always hate the immigrant. That prostitute of heritage Who's culture now ain't worth a spit. They come from lands beyond recall To bend knee to our golden calf. Oh Mighty Buck, we pay homage And pray grant us time and a half.

It was fun once, it should be fun again. Add me to the list of players.

"It appears that we have a tie... That’s interesting, but I'm not going to change my vote and let the true wolf slip away. X-Saber, your vote for Nave only complicates our situation."

Damn it! Slam it! Drink it all down It won't hurt you now It won't hurt you now But it did and it will And it's hurting you still And you'd likely be dead If only headaches could kill Oh why and what for Had we opened this door That led to the lane Full of pity and pain. That led to the road We'd been so often told Would lead to our doom Not later, but soon. The mania grabs hold. As we take to the road, And careen out of sight 'to the damnable night. Where we barrel ahead, And are later found dead. Wrapped 'round a tree. Was it all meant to be?

It's a little rough around the edges, but maybe its just the way I'm reading it. Overall I think it clearly displays a sense of insecurity with oneself as you struggle to hold on.

Mira looks at Tanuchan, his eyes seething with rage. "Liar! It was by my own hand that I stand before you this morning. I protected myself from the wolf, and I won't let you weasel your way out of the gallows that wait for you. You are the remaining wolf, I'd bet my own life on it. Only the wolf would try to damn his fellow to save his own mangey skin. If I hang by nightfall I'll see to that you hang as well." OOC: Tanuchan

"I tell you friends, it is not me you seek. I hope that this nights events prove my innocense."

Thanks X-Saber. This post was extremely helpful. It's comments like yours that I’m trying to receive, comments were people tell me what the poem meant to them. As for talking with you about this kind of thing, I'd be happy to anytime. I've no problems at all with you.

Spelling and grammer aren't what I'd like them to be. Feedback level 3 requested. We’ve got people growin’ up to be toddlers We’ve got young kids old enough to fight in our wars Somewhere somthing’s been turned all around Somewhere someone has messed with the score And now we’ve got terrorists with more support than US And now we’ve got holy men creatin’ a sinful fuss When all you need to be a leader is a catchy phrase and a hansom face And a billion dollars of support; now voting seems an awful waste And it seems the whole worlds is plastiqued up And the only way to win is by giving up And everone’s looking for a quick “pick-me-up” In some magic dust or mystic cup Why do we keep pressin’ on? To fight in battles already lost To live our lives at such a cost And only try to not get lost In this burning, churning avalanche of time.

Mira has watched the events of the day with little comment. The scene at Gwaihir's was enough to unsettle even the most steadfast man's stomach. It was that grizzly scene that probably had the villagers flinging accusations faster then jackrabbits and someone had to help these people get a grip. He knew it wasn't going to be him. Being an outsider these frightened little hovel dwellers weren't likely to listen to anything he had to say, even if it could save their lives.

Mira watched the lynching with a feeling of absolute horror. If people who had been neighbors their entire lives could do this to each other, then real or not he had better start taking all this talk of wolves seriously. He shivered when he thought of how close he had been to being up there on the platform in Eyremon's place. Being late and with the recent snow fall Mira decided to rent a bed in the attic of the tavern, and, despite his doubts about all of this wolf business, he couldn't help but sleep with his long bladed hunting knife in hand.

"Well, well, you all really do believe in this foolery." "You know, I didn't always use to be a farmer in some little backwater town. I've seen my fair share of the world, and talked to my fair share of people who have seen the horrors of the night. From what I understand if we did have a pair of werewolves on our hands we'd all be dead already, that is, unless their trying to make their food supply last." "The way I see it *the one who casts the first stone and all* if I had to pick one of you fools out as a wolf I'd have to say Eyremon." (OOC: Eyremon)

Thirty some years And what has been changed? Hate better hidden, Another dark page. And now it has spread To those from the sands. An invisible plague A million bloodied hands

"It's insanity simply because I have better things to do then to bicker over some attack by a pack of wild dogs!" Mira shouted in response to the deformed woman's question. ""It's insanity because I don't think there are any wolves or other such nonsence." "And as for me being some fairytale creature, bah, you'd have to be more crazy then a young buck in rut to think up something as loony as that."

(OOC: I figured we should all introduce our characters for the sake of having something to base the first vote on.) Mira, a farmer who lives alone outside of town and generally keeps to himself, stands up in the back of the hall. "I've no time for this insanity", he shouts. "There's work back at my farm that I'd much rather be seeing too then sitting here listening to this lunacy."

I'm sick of people who act like this. Look at me I'm filled with hate Hurry up I can not wait I'm boiling Up past the brim These lies I speak This deadly sin Look at me Look at me Look at me I need your words To cut me down This anger is My thorny crown This baseless angst Is just for show A cry for help That will not go Look at me Look at me Look at me I'll do it now If just for kicks A razor blade My daily fix A violent gash My blood set free If only you Would look at me If this should be posted somewhere else (Like the Scarlet Pen) I apologize and ask that it be moved immediately

The last line wasn't meant to be a surprise as much as it was to be a comment on the fear of battle in general. The speaker, of course, symbolizes this fear. There are so many today who claim that they harbor no fear and will die for the cause, and frankly, I don't think that they will.