Okies. Here are the three poems to choose from. :3
Heaviness of Age
It is indeed a new age.
An age of possibilities,
an age of sickness,
an age of war, and famine,
and walking among the stars.
An age of inter-global connection
with boundaries never more clear.
An age where evil was once good,
where black can become white,
where sickness is in health,
and as the sunshine streams through the rain we cannot see--
cannot see in front of us the sallow earth,
the clogged sea, the hazy air,
but all too well does the heat of the fires rise
and keep rising.
An age where the original, thought nigh lawful, boundaries
are steadily crumbling.
An age where the masses cry out for intervention and
then question its giver.
An age where a few sit dreamily, brows laden with true heaviness,
and drift down brief, imaginitive roads of escape.
The Flooding of Eden
If I trailed my hand in the river Lethe...
what would become of me?
In this place I lie,
the rain that covers your face pouring outside.
Floodwaters rising, rising, rising.
Tree of trees,
your roots run deep.
Deep enough to save someone?
When Death is dead,
can life continue?
When the Sun is without its Moon
what then will become of the Earth?
Floodwaters rising, rising.
Go ahead, drown me.
Tree of trees,
are you going to allow this turning?
What will become of the flowers
when the meadow-valley is become a flood-plain?
Cradled in strong arms beneath the waves
Methinks it is not now so bad.
Oh, but where have you gone, Moon?
It seems only fitting to think,
"As with seaward comings of Night, so must Sun drown."
If I drowned in the river Lethe...
what would become of me?
It is the river Lethe...
Honestly, would I remember if you answered me?
Foreigner in the Sioux Lands
In this country there is a place
where in your life you can watch bluffs turn green.
Where earth-mountains are dwarfed
by ones formed in cloud.
In this place you can stand on raised ground
and watch vaulted arches in the air
shadowed gray black with wafting beaded curtains,
shafted with windows of blue.
Balcony doors releasing columns of white
to splash the shadows with highlights.
In this land the bank rocks are smooth worn
by clear waters bounded by fields and woods.
Where floating dancers may light upon you without fear.
Here under the winding, vast, interlaced halls
seated in a train of natural company
you may still hear the voices of the people of the land.
At the Creek of the Bears,
tucked away at the Bend to the River
in the Village of the People of the Large Canoes.
Silver Nephilim Community Member 
|
|
Community Member
But my decision concludes as such:
Xinithium marks his vote on Ballot #2. ^^ Gluck!
...But Truth Always Prevails...