Poetry. For when ya get bored.

[ShdwyTemplar]

Four riders stand aglow amidst the flurrying snow,
One spells death, one spells life, one the future, and one the fight.
They ride through days and ride through nights, quenching power ever more until they all enter through death's door.
Life be short, life be long, but life be sung within one song.
Three riders stand aglow amidst the tormenting snow, listening to echoes of there fallen foe.
One spells death, one the fight, and one the future ere it come tonight.
No future ever will remain, for it is the past that and will always be the same.
One spells death, and one spells the fight, both shadows that come through the night.
Two riders stand on top the mountain peak, both reside within and both reside to win.
Foe or friend it matter not, we fight them all and all for not for in the end one will always fight till that fateful day or night.
One rider stands and his name is death. He is the end of all and nowhere else will his hand fall.

I got bored. So, if you get bored come write a poem. It might help take the boredom away.

[EatMeReturns]

As I lay, prepared for death,
final thoughts are nigh.
As I breathe my final breath,
I look up at the sky.

Visions of those golden meadows;
Nighttime fireflies.
Mountains casting darkened shadows,
Two moons embrace the skies.

All these flow and twist and melt;
One mystic memory.
They mold until they're smooth as felt,
Flawless as can be.

The epic tale of finality,
My life's flash before my eyes.

[Darth_Bane]

The Dark is generous.
Its first gift is concealment: our true faces lie in the dark beneath our skins, our true hearts remain shadowed deeper still. But the greatist concealment lies not in protecting our secret truths, but in hiding from us the truth of others.
The dark protects us from what we dare not know.
Its seacond gift is comforting illusion: the case of gentle dreams in nights embrace, the beauty that imagination brings to what would repel in day's harsh light.But the greatist comfort is the illusion that the dark is temporary: that every night brings a new day.Because it is day that it temporary.
Day is the illusion.
Its third gift is the light itself: as days are defined by the nights that devide them, as stars are defined by the infinit black through which they whell, the dark embraces the light, and brings it forth from the center of its own self.With each victory of the light, it is the dark that wins.

The Dark is generous and it is patient.
It is the dark that seeds cruelty into justic, that drips contempt into compassion, that poisons love with grains of doubt.
The dark can be patient, because the slightest drop of rain will cause the seeds to sprout. The rain will come and the seeds will spout, for the dark is the soil in which they grow, and its the clouds above them, and it waits behind the star that gives them light.
The dark's patients is infinate.
Eventually, even stars burn out.

The Dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins.
It always wins because it is everywere.
It is in the wood that burns in your hearth, and the kettle on the fire; it is inder your chair and under your table and under the sheets on your bed. Walk in the midday sun and the dark is with you, attached to the soles of your feet.
The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.

[EatMeReturns]

The hunters do not rest tonight,
Each searching with hungry thoughts.
For what they seek is easy meat;
In towns are where they haunt.

In a land where men fear prey,
And predator is weak.
Unwanted meat of men is laid
On ground with wet blood streak.

The hunters do not rest tonight,
Each searching with hungry thoughts.
For what they seek is easy meat;
In towns are where they haunt.

Man's bones are carved in to weapons,
Man's skin is worn for heat.
Man's flesh is nourishment for those
Who travel on four feet.

The hunters do not rest tonight,
Each searching with hungry thoughts.
For what they seek is easy meat;
In towns are where they haunt.

The beasts that inhabit this land
Are great where men are not.
The beasts with conscious thinking thoughts
Have smarts that men have not.

The hunters do not rest tonight,
Each searching with hungry thoughts.
For what they seek is easy meat;
In towns are where they haunt.

[the8thark]

Softly as the breeze blows by
I sit and wonder why
The birds chirp so merrily
With their sweet song

How lucky they are
With wings so bright
So sleek and full of life
Able to escape any situation just by flying
And leave all their troubles down below

They laugh at us mortals stuck to the ground
With so many issues and very few answers
They see the big picture all around us
The hope in the distance obscured by the trees

And as they move on, fueled by the ocean breeze
Their past is forgotten, as new territory awaits
They leave us mortals behind to cry in our place
To visit the world and all it's splendour

And one day they return, to visit this place
To see how the mortals have have ruined their lives
Deprived of happiness through our own doing
A self provoked curse, is the fate we all share

Nothing has changed over the years
They often return to laugh at our sorrow
And I always look up at the clouds in the sky
And envy the birds laughing at me.