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This will probably fail spectularly, but it'll be interesting to see the results if it doesn't. I'll have a go at a short one to start with.

 

See all the colours, reflected in water

Cousin Butterfly and Uncle Rainbow

Just like summers in paradise

Dreams comes true once more.

 

That's as much as I can feasibly think of for now, it was bit influenced by the track I'm listening to at the moment.

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Okay.

 

A mounting chasm

There's not one spasm in his mind right now

Between him and true destiny there is one light

One light which blinds all else but leads him on and on

Like a tightrope he could fall and lose everything

His pride, his dignity, all he values.

But now, the moment of truth.

He rises upwards, plunging his sword into the air

As the monster quietens and falls to the ground

The warrior is not satisfied.

And full of adrenaline.

He starts off to adventures new.

 

(music: Requiem for a Dream, Clint Mansell Remix for LOTR)

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Okay.

 

A mounting chasm

There's not one spasm in his mind right now

Between him and true destiny there is one light

One light which blinds all else but leads him on and on

Like a tightrope he could fall and lose everything

His pride, his dignity, all he values.

But now, the moment of truth.

He rises upwards, plunging his sword into the air

As the monster quietens and falls to the ground

The warrior is not satisfied.

And full of adrenaline.

He starts off to adventures new.

 

(music: Requiem for a Dream, Clint Mansell Remix for LOTR)

I like this, it's epic within one verse.

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Yeah its amazing what you can do simply on train of thought. I'll stick this on my thread. :happy:

And the music actually really does help, it can change one's outlook and therefore their verse in the click of a finger.

 

Also, I've added you as a friend on LJ, hope that's OK.

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Just like a snowdrop falling

It's precious and fragile

Winter is calling

And forever makes me smile.

 

When the sun comes

Just hide yourself away

Watch the foxes run

Into the bright new day.

 

Music - Siberia by Charlotte Hatherley.

 

Aww, I'm thinking of lots of little hibernating animals now. :happy:

 

And the music actually really does help, it can change one's outlook and therefore their verse in the click of a finger.

 

Also, I've added you as a friend on LJ, hope that's OK.

 

That's cool, I only just made it today. :)

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It's funny how the strangest things

Come back at'cha in the end,

The candy floss and the scaffolding

Held up as my only friends

 

Labyrinths are cakewalks

And straight lines are living hells,

Myriad by myriad

I'm falling, climbing wells

 

...*rolls next joint*

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Harm's cattle roams what lies beneath

Below black, below blue

Like doom-soaked earth gnomes do

Pulled down by sugar-rotten teeth

 

Care's flock floats up above

Over orange, over opal

As a joy-flushed fairies' ball

Its buoyancy the devil's love

 

 

:LOL: That came uot of nowhere, thank God I'm not a poet.

(listening to iTunes shuffling between Nirvana and the Amelie soundtrack)

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Harm's cattle roams what lies beneath

Below black, below blue

Like doom-soaked earth gnomes do

Pulled down by sugar-rotten teeth

 

Care's flock floats up above

Over orange, over opal

As a joy-flushed fairies' ball

Its buoyancy the devil's love

 

 

:LOL: That came uot of nowhere, thank God I'm not a poet.

(listening to iTunes shuffling between Nirvana and the Amelie soundtrack)

Sounds a bit like Dylan Thomas, I like this.

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Sitting on the ground

Just fumbling around

Wasting away my time

Write down a little rhyme

 

Thinking of a girl so fine

Elated that she is mine

This weight feels as heavy as a rock

But it's only a ticking clock

 

Yah it needs to be spring break already.

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A crashing lightning bolt as a painter works feverishly

As the shadows walk around him he glances upwards

His paling face, his whiting head, eyes wide and staring

It is almost as if something stalks his house, invisible.

 

His painting, only visible by the moonlight, is beautiful

A crippled smile of pride enlightens his face.

They said it would never come to anything.

Happy he was wrong, he retired.

 

The sneaking shadow ripples like the pipes of an organ

White fingers clasping the edge of the painting

And licking it away into the night

The door shuts with a slight jingle.

 

His age knows no bounds now, his skin has sunk so low

So wizened by the ages, none can bare this blow

Perhaps the gallery has written his name

Alas, breaking heart, no.

 

The ghostly man glitters, his eyes like his sacks

A cry of no again,

Screams and burning

The painter dies with his work.

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