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Ian Mar 16
A story of love aged with time,
Enveloped and inmortalized in joyous rhyme.

There once was a fae guided by the Sun,
Showing the way, he need only follow and run.

Kept under close watch by a vigilant eye,
The fae boy felt that all must be ary.

The world the sun showed him he was sure,
Must be perfect, whole, and infinitely pure.

But hardly was that dream so true,
And with each moment, the sun's fervor grew.

So demanding and resentful were the Sun's ways,
The boy cursed with scorching, destructive days.

But his will persisted, for he knew no other,
Stranded and tired, trading loneliness to suffer.

One evening he pondered on what to do,
Escape back to suffering alone, but where to go?

Then, with the gift of the sunset all was clear,
For what came after was what he knew to hold dear.

Before the fae arose the shimmering Moon,
His eyes fixated on such a dizzying boon.

The Moon wrapped him in bright, soft light,
Assuring the fae that now all would be right.

He felt comfort in the welcoming glow,
At last a gentle soul wanting to see him grow!

The fae openly proclaimed his adoration,
The Moon's presence the source of his frantic creation.

Weaving words of passion and desire,
Finally free of the past destructive mire.

Never once moving in such a flurry,
Desperate to prove his love, but he needn't worry.

The Moon enamored with him for what he was,
And valued him for all that he does.

With guiding light and a glowing heart,
The fae boy knew they'd never want to be apart.
Prince eduard Jan 14
The ashes fall
The grass wither
But my love for you
Shall never bitter

In front of the world
You're here with me
You've guided me
and so I never withdrew

As I walk
You established my steps
As I fly
I glide by your wings
And with You I swifts

But whenever I fall
You catch me with Your love and all
When I drown
You pushes me up with no frown

This journey is but 'like' a game
You move here and you risk there
But as I walk, If ever I fall
You smile then You pull
Yes! You're there and You rule!

You're a helping hand amidst all
I will praise you
I will love you
I will be grateful to You and will sing as the trumpets blow

For You're my Helper
How can I be more happier?
All of them might be against me
But my trust in You shall never leave me

It will all end
But my song for you shall never bend
And things might go wild
But my Lord, I'll be forever your bard!
A declaration of praise, gratitude, confirmation, worship and love
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
The imagination is evidently pure; its here --
The ascent of ideas and valiant colours, and hysterics
In matrimony- on this delirious evening mood
(But he needs more paper to write)

We are familiar with The Great what's-his-name?
Ah - The Bard, out of the reserved shadows he would abrupt,
Create scenes of quiet saints turned to garrulous beings
(But he needs more paper to write)

On his tattered paper, he would write of idle witches, comedies, tragedies, of
The insanity of Love, the flaws of princes, fools, knights,  daughters, servant boys,
His work resembles that of festival with black and blue harlequins
(But he needs more paper to write)

The pity for Jesters, Twice as bloomed as the audience laughs at him!
What pessimism, what insanity, caused such a twist in this plot? they say
To understand the agony of the human spirit, where he writes inexhaustibly
(But he needs more paper to write)...



                                                    ­      
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
Inkpot is golden
My quill is dipped and ready
For the bard's freeverse
Another free-verse is in the works! ^-^
This one is dedicated to a special bard.
Part one will hopefully be out tomorrow!
Let's DO this! *cracking fingers*
Lyn ***
Devin Ortiz Jul 2018
I've written this story,
Thousands of times in my head.

But when it comes to pen and paper,
I run out of things to be said.

The bard, the mire, the sleuth
His lute, his fear, his truth.

Traveller through time,
His words chill the spine.

Oh, weaver of tales,
Hunter of lies.

Falter not to failure,
Or meet demise.

Songs will save thee,
Open all eyes to see.

Though the devil is in the details,
His chord, echoes on all that fails.
Without a second thought
She casts a shadow—
To reign down upon his lot,
Still waters; cold and shallow.
Struggling in her web he’s caught,
Left hanging in the gallows.
His heart—all but left to rot,
Her perception of him, fallow.

He tilled the fields of thought
With acre upon acre of roses.
Untying even the toughest knots
So loves door never closes.
He didn’t care if it were for naught,
An intrigue that never dozes,
But broke when he missed his shot,
A lonely bard in a field of roses.

She did not see him in such grace
To look past his imperfection,
Nor climbed the wall to see his place
Of fervent—lasting affection.
In a world of chatter he sat—
In eerie prolonged silence,
To love but not be loved back,
She drowned him in diffidence.
Vick Mandrake Feb 2018
The bard feels all sung out
As the world around him sleeps
He is the only one left
In the right sense of mind
Who doesn't feel strung out

So he sets to write a merry tune
'pon his lute so fine
For come the morning
When the people awake
An old tune just won't shine

He tries and tries
Till the **** does crow
But sadly sunrise comes

The women start to knead their dough
To cook their breakfast buns

And the poor old Bard
In this moment did find
Of songs he wrote not a single one
And he now is out of time
polka Jan 2018
"Why can't you shut up?"

Says the knight to the bard
For the knight knows agony
When the bard sings his song.

"Are you mad?" asks the lyricist, expression surprised.  
"Anyone would be joyed to hear their battles become rhyme."

But the knight wasn't happy, for he knew the truth              
That the painful deaths of many men hid behind the tune.
That the failure as a protector would haunt him in song
That sleepless nights without father, husband, or son is what he did wrong.

A pessimist others call him, a realist stands true
For reality is too harsh to be handled by a fool.
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