Flora et Fauna rolled 1 20-sided dice: 20 Total: 20 (1-20)
Flora et Fauna
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- Posted: Thu, 20 Sep 2012 20:44:40 +0000
A smile of swallows entice the vortex of a hole,
They breed across entire skies, waiting for their solace.
She breathes and sleeps and eats and breathes,
A life no hole should have to live.
Her heart sinks deeply within her chest, abreast her gilded robe.
Sauntering deep into her soul, a shadowed figure guides her vision.
An ethereal glow, an intense burn of something clears beyond this vision,
Her hair lay soft along her shoulders upon this fateful, delving hole.
She crosses her gate, and continues fro into this timely robe
Of truth and lies scattered about unto her ribbons of solace.
With a building reaching out before her, she ponders the life that she must live;
Continuing forward, the building of obsidian constantly breathes.
Its heart patters as though a human would, its smile alone breathes.
She lifts a hood over spindly locks of hair a gesture of respectful vision,
A tender warmth surges through her. Preparing a choice, to live
Or not as the breadth of her frigid soul reaps deeply into this hole.
From which she was created, a tender hope peels for a summer’s solace,
Without the need for winter’s robe.
The frigid cold of one’s mind would definitely require such a robe.
As the insanity brews it plants a seed, a seething hatred of what it breathes.
All she wants is a somber nap, the relinquishing of all her fears, a final place of solace.
She closes her eyes to find this castle of darkness to see in her peripheral vision.
But all she manages to feel and grasp is this persistent hole
Which grows deeper beneath her skin, taunting her urge to live.
Is it a question of fate when one decides when to die and when to live?
Her soft lips would purse, a lover’s curse, as she removes the gilded robe.
This hole within the hole inside is nothing more than that: a hole.
She dives straight in, plunging first while restricting what she breathes.
Her eyes perceive nothing, nothing to obstruct her vision.
A final resting ground for the moment she sought, the solace.
The tips of her toes dangle needlessly from her haltered shoes, a solace.
A peace of mind not many see from behind the drudgery to live.
She feels nothing, yet sees it all beyond her fated vision.
A tender hand approaches from behind this whitened robe.
It was herself that found herself away from the one that breathes.
This vortex, this life not lived is finally full, as is that hole.
The hand behind the whitened robe
Vanishes into where she breathes,
The one had vanished, no longer a hole.
They breed across entire skies, waiting for their solace.
She breathes and sleeps and eats and breathes,
A life no hole should have to live.
Her heart sinks deeply within her chest, abreast her gilded robe.
Sauntering deep into her soul, a shadowed figure guides her vision.
An ethereal glow, an intense burn of something clears beyond this vision,
Her hair lay soft along her shoulders upon this fateful, delving hole.
She crosses her gate, and continues fro into this timely robe
Of truth and lies scattered about unto her ribbons of solace.
With a building reaching out before her, she ponders the life that she must live;
Continuing forward, the building of obsidian constantly breathes.
Its heart patters as though a human would, its smile alone breathes.
She lifts a hood over spindly locks of hair a gesture of respectful vision,
A tender warmth surges through her. Preparing a choice, to live
Or not as the breadth of her frigid soul reaps deeply into this hole.
From which she was created, a tender hope peels for a summer’s solace,
Without the need for winter’s robe.
The frigid cold of one’s mind would definitely require such a robe.
As the insanity brews it plants a seed, a seething hatred of what it breathes.
All she wants is a somber nap, the relinquishing of all her fears, a final place of solace.
She closes her eyes to find this castle of darkness to see in her peripheral vision.
But all she manages to feel and grasp is this persistent hole
Which grows deeper beneath her skin, taunting her urge to live.
Is it a question of fate when one decides when to die and when to live?
Her soft lips would purse, a lover’s curse, as she removes the gilded robe.
This hole within the hole inside is nothing more than that: a hole.
She dives straight in, plunging first while restricting what she breathes.
Her eyes perceive nothing, nothing to obstruct her vision.
A final resting ground for the moment she sought, the solace.
The tips of her toes dangle needlessly from her haltered shoes, a solace.
A peace of mind not many see from behind the drudgery to live.
She feels nothing, yet sees it all beyond her fated vision.
A tender hand approaches from behind this whitened robe.
It was herself that found herself away from the one that breathes.
This vortex, this life not lived is finally full, as is that hole.
The hand behind the whitened robe
Vanishes into where she breathes,
The one had vanished, no longer a hole.