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Forgotten Memories: Kyo-TohruThe curse of the Sohma family is a mystery for even those who think they know everything about it. Some aspects can only be guessed. And some can only be found out after its too late
It had been a normal day (yeah right) today. And now it was a beautiful night. The stars shown brightly and it was a lunar eclipse in the night sky.
Wow! Its so beautiful. I must be luckiest girl to see this tonight, said Tohru admiring the stars and began to go into a daze.
Miss Honda, are you ok?
WHAT?! Huh? said Tohru very startled, Ah, Im sorry Yuki-kun. I lost track of time, please forgive me. Oh, I forgot to make dinner, you must be very hungry. After that, Tohru ran into the house to make dinner, with Kyo and Shigure waiting inside.
Miss Honda, please dont push yourself Yuki thought to himself.
-Later that night
Everyone sat down at the table and started eating.
I'll meet her again...Its Samhain. The line between the spirit
world and our own is a ray of moonlight.
Its the night when the reluctant soul sticks
to our plane, hovering - a withered rose
whose beauty is the figment of a dream;
a gleam gilding the surface of the lake.
For long hours of idyll would the Lake
poets revel in letting their spirit
soar free on the nightingales wings, and dream
of glimpsing their Muse clad in pure moonlight
but tonight magics afoot: clouds just rose
to blur the moon like fumes from incense sticks.
The Romantics habit of rambling sticks
to mind tonight, as I stroll to the lake
and sit down to recall the violent rows
wed have every night, before her spirit
gave itself over to the bland moonlight
and chose to rest and die, not live and dream.
But perhaps tis I thats strayed in a dream?
For in that small nest, fashioned out of sticks,
I see her visage, painted in moonlight.
I glimpse a lady traversing the
All Hallows' EveShe leaps and whirls to a ritual beat,
Bare feet kicking loose the earth;
None of us, idle by, know her name,
Or why, on Halloween, she comes -
Each year, the same slow night
Each year, her same swift sway.
No vaulted stars illuminate her way,
Lulled or snake-charmed by the beat
Resounding in this deep-well night;
Perhaps they, like us, crashed to earth,
To this place where dream-touched come,
To this place which has no name.
She mouths and mimes the names
Of the countless many who lost their way;
Those who would not, could not come
And herald thunder's echoing drum-beat:
Her hard footfalls on the loam and earth,
Her hard footfalls in the night.
Others curse and rail against the night,
Fearing demons they dare not name,
We feel them, restless, beneath the earth,
And stirred this night, always;
Awakened by the lady's pulse-warm beat,
Awakened by the night, they come.
Our fears, now shaped, are swift to come,
Rising with the tide of slow-fall night -
From chambers low and deep, an ascend
The Spectre That WasThe Spectre That Was
Out I went, searching for a spectre
That would prove to my not so limp
Opposition that something was. Into the night
I sent forth thought after crystal
Thought, only to have them shatter into crimson
Shards of laughing, lightning silver.
Sometimes, though a sliver of silver
Specks would spatter a lovely spectre
Of my ambition onto a dull crimson
Reflection of a crushed,limp,
Me. Light upon light of crystal
I shine, but everything is swallowed into the night.
I am not a disciple of the night,
Its shadows scare me silver
And white while chiming alarms of crystal,
Make my body separate from its spectre.
Meanwhile the absurdly lopsided limp
Form of a thought in my head bleeds crimson.
It flashes upon me, that splash of crimson
Repeatedly blinding me, making the night
Seem almost faint, hazy, limp;
While my life force oozes out in a silver
Splotch only for me to finally spot the spectre
Emerging from its structure of crystal.
After it I went, my shadow forming cr
Post-ghost Toast.One day I saw a ghost
A-sitting on a post,
And he was eating toast,
Not any kind of roast,
So I was feeling grossed
By this ghost with the most.
He really was the most
Face-stuffing, greedy ghost
That got completely grossed
Out while perching on a post
(A skewer for a roast)
By eating red hot toast.
Crumbs fell down from this toast,
And down on me the most,
Till I began to roast,
Shake my fist at the ghost,
All safe up on his post,
Not caring I was grossed.
While I was getting grossed
By bits of burning toast,
I kicked hard at the post,
At the weakest point most,
To dislodge this mean ghost
And hoping not to roast.
Yes, I was scared to roast,
So scared as well as grossed;
Not that coal munching ghost
With carbonated toast,
Which fell on me the most
From top of that damn post.
I grabbed and shook that post;
My anger made me roast:
My face burned red the most
On top of being grossed
By vile, Hadean toast
Ground up by crunching ghost.
I was the most grossed roast
That ever turned to toast
His Oath of FealtyWHEN vaunted skies were torn asunder,
vast mountains stood with faces grave,
then thunder rolled in waves so shrill
fast became their frightened eyes.
Surge thus from moste despairing dungeon:
emerge, you foul-perilous fiend.
Feet canker-ridden, this grotesque fiend
(whose flesh hung, 'twas shred asunder)
beat his chest; limping from dank dungeon
muse in his arms. Features grave,
pale as frost, and see her vacant eyes
rail at death had she once screamed shrill?
Stately castle echoed weeping shrill
but who may say? Odious fiend,
greatly quiv'ring body, his eyes
cut at each edge. Asunder
were the stepping stones, a pit-like grave
stir did his thoughts. Leaving dungeon,
so on he went that long-passed dungeon
and rose to where the winds were shrill,
banned was the use of darkened grave!
O, up battlements, the fiend
thought of his dear late king. Asunder,
brought apart by loss; when fiends' eyes
A Night in the Cemetary.."Bet you won't sleep in the cementary."
Mocked the bedsheet ghost.
"It's Halloween, it's way too scary."
Chimed in the werewolf.
"I'll do it." I said, sounding brave.
But really, I was scared of the dead.
We passed trees, cold and dead
On our way to the cemetary.
Passed bats that looked spooky, knights that looked brave..
But the costumes didn't compare to shadow ghosts.
Or the howls that came from the lips of a werewolf.
When compared with the costumes, they were more scary.
Finally we reached the gates, which only to me seemed scary.
Of course, no one else had to sleep with the dead.
Another howl, another image of a hungry werewolf.
Nothing like the friend in costume, who stood outside the cemetary.
A chill, I thought of all the tortured ghosts.
Could I really be so brave?
I didn't have a choice. I had to be brave.
I had to pretend it wasn't that scary.
I had to believe I was imagining ghosts.
I had to believe there would be no rise of the dead.
I had to believe I would be safe in th
To Die Beautiful....She says; I can still the motion forever, in a moment,
The tireless, and careless carousing of the clock
Whos hands do trace their gluttonous way
Across the timeless, tempestuous, graceful face
Of my brave and valiant Grandfather Death.
For I'm his favorite Grand-Daughter; mortals call me Age;
Whos once-maiden-mouth, now ornery with age
Purses her lips, and then says; I guard the secret of what is meant
Behind Grandfathers talk of veils and vestiges of death.
See, now how she gestures towards the ticking clock;
Each passing hand leaves a line upon your face
In her you may find hope, or choose to tread the other way:
Not towards the beacon light, but the path that points away
From life bitter-sweet swelling into your golden age;
From watching your beauty become slowly defaced,
Until, unprepared, you reach that loathsome moment
She is the priestess-queen of your ticking clock
Allow her, she leads you softly down to delicious Death.
White RainI am insane. In haunted house alone
I wander. Silent, patient... and I wait.
I wish that someone came and shared my pain.
And who am I? Some entity unknown?
I think... I think complexion mine is white,
I am quite sure I like the sound of rain.
The silver scatter sound... oh yes, the rain.
I cannot count the times I've stood alone
The world around me rain-bleached pure and white.
But why I stand? For whom I always wait?
What is my present? What my past? Not known.
And so I am in numb and tiring pain.
It is familiar now... I was in pain
Some time before but never knew I rain...
Still water, though, yes, that for me is known.
I think forever have I been alone.
I am so sick of shadows, always wait,
I wait in lonesome tower, clad in white.
It never was my favourite colour... white...
For some or other reason it means pain.
But who was I? This knowledge still I wait
When sitting by the window, staring rain.
Some curse is cast upon me. All alone
I stay, and why? The reason is not known.
Trick-or-Treat SestinaTrick or- Treat Sestina-Ween
The suffocating darkness
Finally creeps in from the
Never ending void called
The sky. It waits so silent
Until the final day is gone
And the moon is out to play
Only at that moment are the
Terrifying ghouls at last called
The air and space is silent
All trace of day is gone
And the stage is set for the play
As it waits a moment in darkness
The creatures have been called
Howls pierce the silent
Air as all peace has gone
The forest will begin to play
Yet in never ending darkness
And the chilling sound of the
Heartbeats racing like feet yet silent
All wish that these devils were gone
As they pester on doors. Play
Games as they scream in darkness
Little thieves with hands readying the
Bags and bowls that have called
Nothing will stop until they are gone
They do anything to play
For such jewels in the darkness
These gems are gone quick but the
Moment taken is precious as they are called
Names which do not suit the silent
After so many hours at play
Out My Window - Sestina
As I look out my window
I stare into the dark
All that smiles is the moon
Which creates my shadow
Among the quiet street
Stands a single figure
All that moves is the figure
Who stares at my window
Lights go out in the street
And the world becomes dark
I no longer have my shadow
My only friend is the moon
I am jealous of the moon
For it does not fear the figure
And it needs no shadow
All I have is my window
So I may see the dark
That I see in the street
Now across the street
Clouds pass the moon
And gives advantage to the dark
But I can see the figure
He is at my window
Covered in his shadow
I wish I had my shadow
There is no comfort in the empty street
All that is between us is a window
He laughs along with the moon
I cannot ignore the figure
For he has become the dark
Everywhere is dark
There is no shadow
All that matters is the figure
The one I saw on my street
I cannot hear the laughs of the moon
And I no longer have my window
My window has lost to the dark
The moon dissappers behin
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More