Mardrax

heartborn

Sadistic treatment from a helping hand.

A man of cloth with countless slaves.

Bearded pedophile in red and white,

handing out presents

that break in weeks,

and none of daddy's

superglue can fix that.

*grin* Hi Ho Holidays!

For those wonder by the way, this wasn't inspired by Santa Clause, rather than by his predecessor, Saint Nicholas, though it probably would fit old Santa as well, he's not a man of the cloth though

"A conflagration of awareness"

*tosses another chalk in the nekkid writer's direction from the last row of seats in the classroom*

I'll have to ask you to refrain from latching on to me Miss. That might prove... uncomfortable.

And what might you mean by stating I'm not here yet?

Need I toss more chalks for you to acknowledge my presence?

But, how can you thank me if I'm not here? Let alone shine spotlights on me? Argh... my poor head.

Besides, I seem to have picked up that the company who would be making the shirts is still trying to get their shop actually up and running.

*continues making multicoloured spitballs with miscelaneous items pulled from his pockets*

winds of mountain airs descend

flows of seas' waters befriend

all of nature's wrath attend

my words as I comprehend

the images before me

the things that will be

eternity's new plea

over a cup of tea

prophecies revealed soon

all under a brittish noon

man that's... lame

"all modern economics claim"

Belong... belonging. Yes.

But to what cost?

The man who clings to his wife, even through all the bad things she unleashes.

Admirable. Yes.

But foolish?

Belonging... yes.

Two heavenly bodies.

First the moon; though scientists would have her encircle herself.

Granddaughter of earth and sky. Daughter of observation and sight. Sister of sun and dawn.

Leeching nemesis of the bald and disabled X.

Then her mother: sight; though could she have seen it coming?

(Last king of a later dismantling empire, though I don't think that matters much now,

Even though he led his people to their deaths on mountains far from whence they came,

defeated by one neither man nor woman, but a bedkeeper far from his home just the same.

Matthew, added up to thirty-one? ten-three? two-eleven?)

Would she have strayed so much if she could?

Could she have avoided, if she weren't that big?

She wasn't big enough to hold her own father with her. Not for long anyway.

Still, envy is no reason to hit us like that, even at such stellar magnitudes.

To hit your own mother like that.

She stayed with us though.

Do we belong?

I don't know.

I asked her once (would that be why she hit me?),

She's been circling around me since.

I guess it wasn't just the men who loved eachother,

though we were always the more aggressive type.

Wyvern stood baffled. This new kid had the guts to just try to swipe his business from under him?

As HawkWing turned around, laying an arm around the other man's shoulder though, he could just stand and watch. He'd been there before, and he wasn't going to try to butt in there the coming few moments.

Trough his little monologue, HawkWing felt Mardrax tremble incresingly under his arm, though he wasn't about to be swayed to take up the lizard's steep pricing that fast, so he continued on talking.

"I'd really hate to be caught in a full moon like I was the last time..."

"Git yer...NO! Get out! NOW!"

Mardrax collapsed onto his kneels and elbows, his hands clutching his temples.

He just sat there for a few moments and, sensing his opportunity clear, Wyvern moved in a few steps.

"Now my dear tailed friend, I'm sssure you don't have to be so rasssh as that. How about I give you our special simian dissscount? Just for today I can offer you a fine resting place on our special Almost Draconic Brand™ Sssuper Comfortable Rug for just 800 geld! And I'll tosss in a breakfast too!" He bent in his neck a little closer. "An I might even be able to throw in some ssspecial cardb... I mean... company for the night."

He backed off just as quickly as he saw the crouching man rising again.

He stretched his limbs out entirely, and while he tilted his neck this way and that, he started speaking again, two tiny flecks of red just barely visibly fading from his pupils.

"I'm awfully sorry about that my good man, but I would like to ask you to refrain from touching me like... that... to prevent further incident. Now about your lodging problem."

He began rummaging through his pockets, his arms dissapearing up to his elbows, occasionaly coming up with some weird item, then putting it back into another pocket, mumbling lines such as "What's this doing here?" and "I should really tidy this up once." When eventually, he withdrew both hands simultaneously, holding a small black stone in his left, and a small white egglike thing in his right.

"I think these would suit your needs just fine if only you'd just tell me exactly what you'd like.... And all for... What have I gotten myself into this time? And all for the price of 100 geld."

blind

*bows* I seem to be getting grimmer though

Til the colour fades from your heavenly eyes

I will be your hell, the blemish on your skies.

As long as you are belle, I'll be your demise.

My nails will be like blades, my weapons in disguise.

Til the roses wash off your divinelike cheeks,

I will be your torment, troughout your final weeks.

You might then descend into that shambling mass of geeks,

I'll cut trough them all, like romans did trough greeks.

Til the hair falls out of your elysian head,

I will be usurping you, until you and yours are dead.

"Depthless windows into the world"

I'll go into explaining it a bit for you then

This little outburst is about (and for) a very old friend of mine. We indeed started out small together, as toddlers in diapers, and we've doubtless played plenty of games

The "can't help" line... it's bugged me as much as it's bugged you probably, though I can't think of any way to put it better.

The "though" which seems to bother most For our situation as it is now, I think it is a sidenote.

I could change it into "through" as rev suggested, which would make it a vital piece of the poem indeed. Yet still, even though it improves how the poem reads... feels... it doesn't serve my purpose in writing it at all Like I said in my previous reply, with that last line, I'm trying to change the situation the second-last line states. Again, I can't find a better way of doing that than the way I have.

Anyhow, a sincere thanks for taking the time to think a bit deeper into it, and for the compliment

Small birds,

such lovely creatures,

such strong flyers,

such powerful singers,

so easily crushed and mangled.

This one here,

sitting easily in my palm,

so certain, so calm,

an admirer's gift; more of an alm?

Will it stay near?

Will I crush it, trying to hold on?

Will I scare it, playing Don Juan?

Will it ever long to die,

along its friends in the sky?

Will I ever know

if I never try?

A tendril of a smokey grey trailed into the inn after the unknown half elf.

It floated around the (apart from the scaly proprietor and the newcomer) bleakly empty room for a few moments as Wyvern went into his sales pitch, its forward end turning into brown strands next to the two people's feet, as its rear end blew in through the door.

Slowly, the smokey matter solidified, turning into a mangled looking heap of dark blue cloth, and as its rear end drew in, a pair of boots made from something no one present could put a name on.

The heap came to movement in a stutter, rising up from the floor, the tangled clutch of hair on top sweeping the floor as it rose. Two hands came out of the cloth, first brushing the hair from a face clearly in discomfort, the pulling the cloth into its proper shape, nervously straightening every last bit.

"I'm dreadfully sorry to interrupt Mister Wyvern's business here my dear mister... what's your name again? But I think I can offer you a bit more comfortable lodging at a price I'm sure will sound a lot less steep. Not that I know much about this form of currency, but at least I can try, and I seem to be in a bit of a stretch currently as I find myself in need of what I would think to be quite a small quantity of this... geld... Based on what Mister Wyvern here is asking."

The man bent closer to one of the stranger's pointy ears and went into a whisper "Although I'm very sure he will charge me more for this incursion, and especially for... rivaling his enterprise."

He stood still for a second, seemingly in deep thought, then appeared to come by, straightened again and went back into normal speech.

"But... where have my manners gone? Mardrax is the name, my good sir, and Mister Wyvern here I've already met, though again, I bid you a fine day... Had I not done that before? Oooh! How rude of me! Well then by all means, I bid you so now," a slight pause, followed by a startled look, and an outstretched hand. "And to you too ofcourse mister..."

OOC: Buccaneers and robbers ahoy! ;-)

Percolating on a tray of silver,

(it's bloodmoney's gift)

the poison seeps through,

drop by bloody drop.

Chemicals bound together in stale white,

(it's not my delight)

synthesised from

clearest opiate.

Taken by my neighbour's youngest daughter,

(not my responsibility)

to limitless wealth.

She's my heroin.

now for the "try"

percolating

on a try of silver--

attempt anew

I dust off now--

golden lined endeavour

retried, regrew

Rather weak, I admit... Haiku's never were among my assets

Had to prevent falling back into 10/5/5's somehow though 0_o

anyway....

"our stains attracting"

push

beanstalk

I'll toss in my participation too

Shards of turmoil on the ground; scatter in the rain.

Bits of broken glass around; avoiding the pain.

Lengths of barbed wire wound; clogging up the drain.

Empty bottles, grief drowned; numbing out my brain.

People are always abound; syringe luring again.

A hobo on the ground; corner of 5th and Main.

"Any amount of actual taste can attest"

bunker

boerenkool

Kisses of frozen dew, beheld my lovers form.

On frosted lawn we lay, right outside the dorm.

We'd lain there for a while, as I looked in her eyes,

whispering sweet words to her, whispering goodbyes.

She'd not said a word to me, which left me no suprise,

she had found a strange man, a devil in disguise.

Left his mark on her he had, that night, which hurt me to the bone

For he had hit her on the head, with this great big stone.

Robbed her of her purse he had, but at least he'd shown

courtesy to lay her there, on lawn that was freshly mown.

"Rabbits fled into their holes; The man revved up his car"

... and the onion cried its eyes out.

Heaps of red matter lay on the cutting board.

The kitchen sink staining a light pink.

The fridge was open,

a long brownish tube hanging out.

The heart beat its last throbbing beat,

as the onion put the knife down and through.

A drop dripped into its left chamber.

"I told you to breathe through your mouth.",

the french maid Mrs. Jeanette exclaimed as she walked in.

paper

As in "through this message"?

Would work very well indeed

Though in the "though"'s defense:

the "this" refers to this poem as a whole, which is part of a rather large collection of other messages which has been going back and forth between us.

Those have reduced us to the state of names, not this one in particular. This one I see as painting her a frameless, moving picture... trying to get us back to a state of being more than names. The last line trying to overrule the second-last.

Though on the other hand, "through" sounds alot better, and would also serve an equally decent explanation, proving instead of disproving the second-last line.

See there, my inability to edit myself

blow

It started out small,

a few walls apart.

The future provided;

Sibling love,

plenty games,

an abrubt end.

How was it all?

Memories in heart;

Living divided,

Can't help but think of

Pictures in frames.

What has it meant?

Along came the ball,

rolling slowly at start,

but it was guided;

sped along with a shove.

Now we're but names,

though this message I send.

in semi-instant fulfillment of a request from an old friend renewed it's not much, but it's pleased

Why was the smiley face yellow?

It started simple enough:

colon - dash - bracket period

Other punctuations waiting in line,

waiting, realising; it wasn't their time.

Possibilities were myriad.

"When do I come?", one asked with a huff.

Semicolon - he was an odd fellow.

The dash then did drop

Full stop

"Soot covering your skin"