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[Urist Mc Dwarf]

Snow drifts outside
Wind sings softly
Inside,  a fire burns
Keeping me warm as
The outside freezes

For tomorrow: A cave

[TD1]

-Snippety-
For tomorrow: Time

[TD1]

Yellow years go by in bloom
The golden in despair,
The silver tread speaks of our doom
When beauty turns from fair.

Death approaches, not on wings
But stealthy as a cat
And takes the threads of things
We once could take for fact

But no longer do we feel its touch
For death is calm and cold,
Still yet that force which turns so much
From youthful face to old.

Some day we will see the curve
Is sour and unattractive,
When the souped-up media
Has its new youth out on display
Replacing those from an
Older, less important
Day.

A Cave:

The marble sparkle of the domes
Of granite and of pearl
Stretch up into the darkest arch
Where busts of might unfurl.
And here the light grows dim
To stretch the shadow far
And in those depths, the phantoms swim
To light of gem-like star.
Long have we wandered in the cave
No light nor food to eat
To contemplate the might of stone
Beneath the mountain's feet!

For tomorrow: A task you undertook.

[Urist Mc Dwarf]

I looked at the mount
So high above me
And knew I'd find
For what I'd seek

I climbed long, I climbed hard
Until I fell, just not far
And at the bottom of a hole
I found another

The hole was dark
Dank and deep
But within is what many seek

And so with my task complete
I returned with riches replete

I feel like there's a story there, I just can't figure it out.

For tomorrow: Fire

[Tomasque]

Time

He runs, but he's known all along
he'll never beat the setting sun.
He knows he doesn't have that long -
this time by time he'll be outrun.

 And he'll never remember
 who he was, and the stars
 will be snuffed out like embers
 that have floated too far.

She's ran her whole life next to him.
She knows that she can't beat the clock,
and begs it now to change it's whim,
but it won't speak - it only tocks.

 And she'll never remember
 who she was, and the stars
 will be snuffed out like embers
 that have floated too far.

They've both been running many miles;
They've lived too long, and that's their crime.
They're running but they their trial
can't outrun - they've run out of time.

 And they'll never remember
 who they were, and the stars
 will be snuffed out like embers
 that have floated too far.


 Only doing one cuz I'm lazy

[TD1]

A task undertook:
That square monolith of death.
Inside rests the remains, the
Pink vase I gave her one Christmas
And each card that she wrote
With the imaginative looping 'A'.

I am to carry this. In coming days
It will decay. Memory will disease
And die, clutched in the loam;
The darkness gnaws the wood.

She is buried where once she stood
To look down on the graves of others -
And I put her there. The earth
Piled in around each hug, each time
She let me know that she was there.
Though it remains heart-breaking
The task yet remains - the dead will die,
And must be buried.

Fire: Okay, an imaginative interpretation.

Yawning, crying. The salt of tears and darkness
Closing on the softness of a bed-side light.
I loved you once, you must know. You fled,
For fear was yours, and wed the coming night.

So salt and midnight mix, to form the piercing need
That shakes the frame and lowers thought.
Gladly would I abandon honour, strike my friend
And forget all the things so sorely taught

If only I could hold you this one night, and close
The closing of the day with just one kiss, tender,
Careful, lighting up the stillness of the room with flame,
Banishing all my shadowed loneliness with love.

Also, small edits:

She's ranrun her whole life next to him.
She knows that she can't beat the clock,
and begs it now to change it'sits whim,
but it won't speak - it only tocks.

For tomorrow: Walking a city.

[birdy51]

Fire

A vivid dance
Destructive, purifying
It all ends in ash.

A task undertook

The lyre is muted,
No voice to sing, unplucked.
Her strings are unmade.

[Urist Mc Dwarf]

Fire

Ash and ember all astir
Wind winding through the firs

The flame alights
It splits the night

The fire has begun

For tomorrow: something unattainable

[TD1]

The Streets of Almonds and of Damson,
Curbs of Currants,
The Towers of Trees
And tears of cities.

The marble front that once
Held granite, polished
By the hands of native
Man, conjoined
Connected and one
Beneath some long
Forgotten Tree of Sun.

That dock, now wearing
Pleats of ships, like pips
Walked past, and left behind
Reminding us
Of water meeting land
Where grows now
Only rue.

We have been left behind
To watch the gardens die
To see the sea turn hard
And walk the city streets
Where we've been left behind
Watching the gardens die
And seas turn hard.

Something unattainable:

The shattered song of seasons
Strews the pathways and the lanes
Where hands once swept
To keep it clean, so careful,
Oh so carefully
That one could not discern
The crackle of the leaves, the hands
That brought them out to burn
And found that what one gives
One will receive.

The season's shattered syllables
Speak yet on the ground
And miss the soft stirring susurration
Of their fellows being brushed
Away.

For tomorrow: Modern art as opposed to traditional art.

[Tomasque]

I should really get back to doing this 

 Expect something. Soon. Hopefully.

Also, do you have the time to get back to Storm now?

[TD1]

Sort of. I'll get back into it today.

[Tomasque]

Okay

[birdy51]

Walking a city

Pidgeons scatter, fly,
Cooes and caws of dim surprise,
When walkers walk by.

---

Something unattainable

Man cannot live on dreams.
Life, not always as it seems,
He drowns, and drowns in sorrows sound,
Wishing dreams that will never be found.

To dream asleep is to dream of death.
To drink so deep of the river called Lethe,
And yet, be stilled and know.
That dreams inside a fire sow.

[Tomasque]

The crafted smear;
The textured blotch;
The square so exquisite.

And laying here
a broken watch:
the paragon of wit!

It seems to me
they did succeed
in art that cannot fail.

From what I see
it's hard to lead
to loss and art this stale.

 ((Yeah, I know it doesn't actually compare the two.))

[Urist Mc Dwarf]

Shall I compare you
To a winter rose?

For you are all the more lovely
As you grow all the more distant

I would make a summer out of snow
If together we could be alone

I know nothing about art, which makes it hard to write a poem on

For tomorrow: A flower?