A pony of novelty
Whose name is Derpy
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.
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
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
The Last PageThe last page of a book turned
The last page of a day or night
The last page of your life someday
But, oh, what to write?
Do you say goodbye to your sweet prince?
Do you bring him to life?
What if in fact the prince was you
And you knew not what to do?
Would you sleep, and perchance to dream?
Or would you write another page?
Blank Canvas (Painted is the Painter)Painted grey is the painter who neglected me
Grey like the dust I collect in the attic
My long life of ill health is an endless daydream of all the paintings I'd like to be
I could smile like the Mona Lisa
Or with the same mouth I could be the scream
I could be Escher's House of Stairs
Or one of Dali's lucid dreams
But before you think this an incurable strife
Think of a blank canvas in your life
And all the light that it could beam
If you wielded a paintbrush and dreamed
YYXShe was a boy
(A lost foreign soul)
He was a girl
(A forbidden secret of existence)
They were as one and the same
(Without any known fortune)
A genetic mistake
(At societies stake)
A physiological shake
(With no love intake)
No identity to fake
Both male and female
The Maiden of the Secret GardenJust below the surface of the world, a different kind of light shines
Emanating from a Maiden whose beauty is in servitude
To those who find it not on their own.
It's not quite love, but not quite lust.
Not quite heartless, questionably just.
Here below the surface, where darkened roses grow
A lucid luster in the moonlit Secret Garden.
With candy in her eyes, the Maiden never cries
But her naked heart softly glows with longing...