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Freedom is not a dream and all the grass is green,
There is no injustice nor loneliness nor lack of life's purpose,
Nature can talk to citizens who'll listen.
Colors take shape in magnificent ways,
Monarchs openly lust for peace,
Villains' words cannot be heard,
Love is the only weapon you'll ever need
You will always find your joyous conscience
DiscordThe bringers of light take their stand in the dark
While the light turns grey
In the wake of Discord
The sky turns inside out
The shadows shine bright and become a myriad presence
By the hands of Discord
Light fades into dust
Animals dance madly
Such is the reign of Discord
Will is now but a dream that died in vain
Hope is now is a light given off by fiends
Made so by Discord
Euphoria becomes confused
Jailers are now felons
Madness fills the wishing well
To the delight of Discord
Sleep becomes a narcotic
The heart transfigures into a door to a ruinous void
Designed by Discord
And if you so happen
To have friends in your life
Turn to him with them and face him with all your might
For all is not lost
To Define InnocenceShe was like an untold mystery revealed at last,
a hiding bud of strange beauty now in bloom for all to see.
But she was seen by the blind eyes of some to be hideous;
and they banished her, deeming her an exile.
She was a misfit, a novelty unlike any of her kind,
now bearing a name forbidden.
A name spoken so many times in petitions for her freedom,
written by those who've seen her well and fear her not,
but whose words fall on deaf ears
leaving their writers but to cry for their beloved exile,
and sleeplessly await a miracle perchance inevitable for their tears yet unseen;
tears of acid rain for their former friends, whom are her masters.
She Has the MagicShe is as hidden as a faerie
as delicate as an infant made of glass
Her beauty is as distant as a dream
ever closer in the glass eyes of an illusionist
For you see she has the magic
the desire of the people lies in it's conjuring
The illusionist's glass captures the magic
and to hold it to be given away
Her spirit screams in pain to deaf ears and the illusionist's eyes capture it all
harvesting all the magic it brings
Breaking her heart breaking her soul
capturing the magic...
Sentinel of LightShe's not one for words, she prefers to fly
She believes in what she sees with her eyes
Her ego is huge, but so is her heart
Doubt not that she's prepared to do her part
And if you happen to do her wrong
You'll have unleashed a lion great and strong
She cares not if you disagree
So long as she is free to say what she thinks
Companionship with her would be wise
For she is the Sentinel of Light
And she'll never leave your side
The Alicorn A celestial presence hangs upon the whispering winds, unsung by the prosaic fates,
pertaining to a vigil of majesty told of in transcendent scriptures. Whereupon this occurrence,
tales of dissent fall on deaf ears in the midst of these echoes of future yore,
echoes of the flutter of the wings of memory carrying a single clover of fortune.
And thus the Alicorn shall speak, with a voice know by that memory, and bring our peace,
to be the kindle of a spirit in our hearts, the same as was borne in our journey to this place
where the whispering winds blow. And this journey shall continue as we spread the wings
of memory, a transmutation of the stillness of time into our grace upon this land.
The Crystal EmpireI: The Search for Memory
A place forgotten by time
is found after a millennium.
It is known as the Crystal Empire.
In this place most real a bird of peace could sing and reach the farthest star;
and while a bright epoch is in it's future, it's history is unclear.
It's memory is all but lost.
it's security threatened by forces seldom remembered.
Only a remembering could bring it solace,
but where the memory lies no one knows.
To behold it's magisterial grace in it's day could teach the world,
but what once was grace is now uncertainty
as the citizens search for what they have lost.
II: The Shadow from the North
Darkness in it's purest form
as a monster with a heart of stone.
From the north it approaches,
precariously hanging off the blackened winds cast by his every step and breath.
He waits beyond the empires gates unable yet to enter,
so he only stands near and inflicts his menacing presence upon the land,
his standing alone fading its luster into dark shadows
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More