A Small Tribute to the MaraudersThey first beganA Small Tribute to the Marauders3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Walking halls of hallowed stone
Four ruined lives
Thought they'd never be alone.
So proud to be
Ran away to roam
Cursing Pure-Blood names
The shadow of the friends he had.
And kindness plied
Ravaged by the beast inside.
They four joined up
Their skills combined
Creating maps to leave behind
To those whose daring was the best
'Til their mischief too was laid to rest.
Wandless lay the first one
His child, the only one to live.
Ties of blood and malice
Killed the second who had naught to give.
The third held on to serve the dark
Convinced he'd cheated death
Yet hands of silver poison
Squeezed out his final breath.
The fourth was left alone to fight
The battle in the endless night
To protect his child,
And as the wand of death ignited,
The four Marauders
January 9, 2012My eye it falls upon the dateJanuary 9, 20123 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The ninth of Janus' month is here!
I should not balk, nor hesitate
Though the penalties could prove severe.
For sparklies and bright glitter here
May lift some hearts, and smiles induce;
A happy cake, or champagne bright and clear
From him a sneer and sharp rebuke produce.
But still, though my offerings will spark abuse
I square my shoulders and frost the chocolate cake.
This day is in honor of my billowing recluse
And all his vituperative rantings I can take.
For deep inside I know the man is not a stone;
His heart is touched and so his cover blown.
Blue-Jay"I don't think I can do it anymore."Blue-Jay3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The girl says this. She is sitting on an old wooden bench under an even older apple blossom tree. Sunlight falls in stencils of gold across her face and arms.
"I know it's hard."
This is said by the boy. He is sitting beside her, his blue eyes glinting in the dappled light. "It's hard but you have to."
The girl stares down at her hands. "I'm sick of the apologies."
"What do you mean?"
"The others. They apologize to me. Even my teachers do it! Why are they apologizing? Do they think it will make me feel better? Does it make them feel self-riotous and noble to remind me every day?"
The boy sighs. "They mean well, Elsa. What would you say if you were them?"
"I don't know anymore! All I know is that I don't want to go back to school tomorrow. I can't."
He rests a hand on her knee. "Don't tal