Tales of Young Shyvana 1: On Birthdays by The-Symbol-Dynamic, literature
Literature
Tales of Young Shyvana 1: On Birthdays
The leather-bound books were old. Nowhere near ancient, but they certainly showed the wear and tear of several particularly neglectful years. The golden yellow and bright blue dyes that had been worked into the shining symbol of Demacia on each cover had faded, seeming to soak up the light where once they had dazzled and glittered. Shyvana smiled a bit, running a hand over a worn cover or trailing fingertips down a ragged and bent spine. She opened the oldest one and laughed softly at the poor penmanship and the way the ink had smeared here and there, or pooled on the page as her hand hesitated between strokes. With a faint chuckle she sat do
I dare not write this in any of my other journals. Already ponies have called me mad for my theories of a city beneath the sea, and any evidence I have presented has been laughed at instead of challenged scientifically. If anypony caught wind of this discovery- But I digress. My name is Coral Situ, unicorn mare and scholar of all things under the sea. I have discovered a specimen that I have dubbed a "sea pony". Upon closer inspection I determined that she was wounded, unconscious, but still alive. To call this the discovery of a lifetime would be diminishing its importance. It's more like the discovery of the century. I enlisted the help of
Dearest Darkness,
Do you
wait for me still?
Each night you gaze
West as I
leave you behind.
Will you still be
watching for me
each morning?
I see the marks
on your hands where I
hold them, on your skin
where I caress you,
taste the raw burns on
your lips
with every kiss.
Why do you suffer
for me?
I scald you,
make your body
tremble
with my very presence.
Is it the soft
warmth of love within
you that shields you
from my fire?
Each morning you
greet me with blossoms,
dew and starlight
dripping
from your hair and
the moon's glow
in your eyes.
And each evening
I am forced to part
from you, the lingering
sensati
It was quite possibly the most beautiful funeral Jacob had ever witnessed. The flowers seemed to glow softly in the evening light, brilliant white roses laid out on the coffin. Some of them had wept openly, but most were there doing what the man had requested, celebrating his life. There was a speech someone had recited, and several others that were ad libbed right then and there. And the music. Such a sweet sound had never tantalized Jacob's ears so much before.
He remembered his suit, white satin with little gold buttons that had shimmered in the bright sunlight. Someone had called him a ghost, a phantom of his father. He had liked that at
Faryn stood by the window and adjusted her dress. It had been weeks since she had last worn human clothes and they clung to her in an almost uncomfortable way. She kept half expecting that she would trip on the fabric or that she would have to adjust it around her wings. This was the only downside to taking on a human form, but clothing was rarely an issue. She usually only transformed so that she could make love to her husband or wander around the house. She giggled slightly at the thought of Alex attempting to bed her in her true form. That would definitely be a night to remember.
And what, pray tell, are you laughing about now?
Dragonheart Zephiel by The-Symbol-Dynamic, literature
Literature
Dragonheart Zephiel
The wind picked up slightly as the blond haired man walked along an ancient stone path. It had long since become overgrown, and only an outline of it remained, barely visible among the trees. He stepped around a fairly large branch that had fallen onto the road. Ahead of him he could barely make out the temple he was seeking. He turned over the Fire Emblem in his hands again and again with an almost maddening need. If he wasn't already exhausted from his traveling he would have started running.
It had been luck that had brought him this far, luck when he had discovered the location of the temple and what it contained. Or was it fate. He sm
What is it to be
feral?
To crave things and to take that
which you crave,
even against the will of others?
To be wild
and untamed?
Mine is
a feral spirit then.
I kiss the stars and embrace
the shining glory they hold, seeking
to possess it myself.
I hold in my hands the laws
which I am told to live by, and bend them
ceaselessly.
I cry for no reason
other than the thrill
of crying, howling
with glee to God and gods and black skies.
I am the
wolf,
raven,
coyote and trickster.
I hunger for meat
enough to sustain myself, cool spring water
to drink and clean my bloodstained hands, a night sky
with a full moon,
and I have
Singing for the Starlight by The-Symbol-Dynamic, literature
Literature
Singing for the Starlight
Stars.
Countless,
infinite
stars.
Little specks
of light that look like pinpricks
in a black sheet of construction paper.
There are no gold stars
with five perfect points
spread wide like shiny flowers, only
the simple splendor
of light torn into the darkness, ripped open
like the mouth of a man who has finally found words
again, buried, compressed and excavated like diamonds
in his mind, like the stars buried amongst
the clouds, dusty, and billowing.
Stars, jagged flecks of the sun
shattering
and scattered to the four winds that pull, and
pull them open once more, this man can speak,
he sings, he sings golden rays
that t
The Sailor's Love Letter by The-Symbol-Dynamic, literature
Literature
The Sailor's Love Letter
There are days
when I don't love you.
Moments in time that scatter
me to the winds and
the seas and carry
me far from your heart.
Can you see
the lines in the sand spelling out
"I love you"?
Or have the waves carried them off
and taken the driftwood stick
with which I wrote it?
Tomorrow, when the wind dies down
and the waves stop, I will write
those words once more,
build a wall to protect them and
line it with those sea shells you adore.
But today, the seagulls call
and the waves beckon, and my ship
is leaving
for Spain
and India
and Egypt
and any number of exotic places.
Today I cannot love you
because the ocean is