.
You will suffer the curse
Of the dark demon race,
And know nothing comes worse,
Twisted and wicked, than
Those fallen from that place.
Man, beware for your clan
For, the wrath you incur,
Tragedies that occur,
All alone you shall face,
Not even the gods’ grace
Can help in this trial,
This, humans, is your cross
To bare, and yours alone.
Pandora’s glass vial
Has broken, it’s your loss.
Time for you to atone
The crime of your people
In the tower purple.
.
.
He walks through fields of grass,
Tall, with a steady step,
As the sun shines above,
He is calm and handsome
In his war uniform,
I find it difficult
To keep my gaze away,
Most of all when sometimes
He turns to look at me
With honey colored orbs,
It seems he is looking
Into my soul of souls…
.
.
With every card or call,
In the eyes of them all,
He was the strongest man,
One who could not be beat,
Not even by a cheat,
Always a perfect hand.
.
Just another take, another version of The Gambler that I had in mind when writing the poem. Whichever you prefer, enjoy!
.
And in the eyes of all,
Whatever card or call,
He was the strongest man
One who could not be beat,
Not even if one’d cheat,
For he’d the perfect hand.
.
.
One moment is all it takes,
An instant, a few mistakes,
And you drop down to your knees,
Slave to your own miseries…
.
All it takes is one moment,
In just a single instant,
You can turn it around,
Lift yourself off the ground!
.
Whether sorry or so great,
No matter really the state,
The path is never that straight,
Such is the power of fate.
.
.
Outside the night is dark
And I am sitting here
Pondering my life stark,
Wondering if a mere
Human like me will spark,
If it will get better.
.
*
And here we are, together once again,
dancing in circles around each other,
unable to resist our hearts’ assaults,
shivering under the cold pouring rain,
both searching, longing for one another,
round and round, in a never-ending waltz.
*
A slight rewriting of the version of the poem you can find here : ‘And here we go again’
.
Dreams will make you happy,
And dreams will make you sad,
They get you away from this world so bad
But when you return comes melancholy.
.
.
Pieces of hard water are falling from above,
They fill the emptiness of what we call the sky
With their strange yet stunning geometrical shapes,
‘Tis quite hard to see in this white obscurity,
As slow inverted steam settles down in layers.
It doesn’t make a sound and fits air like a glove,
It’s white and light and frail, and cold and wet and dry,
I wanted this so bad, it all seems like a dream,
Like the world itself is answering my prayers,
Drowning all my senses in this rare purity.
.
.
White snow is falling,
Footsteps are crunching,
I know he’s stalling
And that I’m rushing.
.
Tales of Ore 