a work of art
a work of art
Meeting me at the end of times
above and on top and under and below
yet, still looking for my answers
all is unclear and undefined
slowly starting to be confused shadows
with some bits of light
all so elusive
primal self is calling me elsewhere
going like the blind
I feel or just don't feel
like or don't like
and it is myself again,
not enough and too much
life is beautiful if you make it
but what if you still have to define
what is really calling you?
Still gotta find my answers within
Slipping away from the no-me
Into the unknown, untold, unclear
Not sure why it is better
But it is
The Outcast has no history, no name. The Outcast comes out of no where; the Outcasthas no home. The Outcast has no family, no friends, but he is not alone.
The Outcast has deep wounds, but no scars. The Outcast endures pain, but has no injuries. The Outcast is torchered, but not by man.
The Outcast is wise but few listen to his words. The Outcast is ignored and is pushed aside. The Outcast warns, but his word ring hallow in the ears of others.
The Outcast listens to others - absorbs their pain. The Outcast has a warm heart, even though it is broken. The Outcast struggles along his way, but carries nothing.
The Outcast is restless, he moves from place to place. The Outcast has no family, no friends, he is not alone. The Outcast is never alone.
Father – A Poem in the Perspective of Boba Fett, by Tempest VonMerrik
Father, can you hear me?
I have done all this for you
Lost in your memory
Grasping for some truth
Father, did you know?
I would be this way
Watching you go
I follow your path
In honor and blood
Hunting, waiting, watching
No mercy in my wrath
Father, can you see now?
The man I’ve become
What I have allowed
And what I have done
Father, please tell me
Have I done you proud?
Or am I to be
A son, disavowed?
I’ve done all I could
To live without you
But sometimes I fear
I be not what I should
Here is a poem I wrote when I should have been doing school. I would like to hear your thoughts on it.
The mighty hunter stalks his prey morning, noon, and night.
A fearsome animal he is hunting in the cold day light.
Not a mighty beast is it, but one that is small and frail.
Though weak his prey may be, it is dangerous still.
For are humans not the more dangerous one,
Of all the beasts of the field?
What evil person is this,
That like animals he hunts man-kind?
Evil he is not.
Simply the way for another's will.
And though his face you cannot see,
The T-slit where it should be
Gives all the brave hearts chills.
He has caught his prey, as the cold day turns to frosty night
The captured man is soon forgotten
By all he ever knew.
Only sight of Boba Fett's helmet
Sparks his sad memory anew.
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