A friend once said: “riddles aren’t art”.
I dropped to my knees screaming.
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A friend once said: “riddles aren’t art”.
I dropped to my knees screaming.
WHO wants to be my riddle elf? (I dm you riddle pieces while making it and you JUDGE tnem)
I can be young, but I lack a body
I can be wild or peaceful; for some, melancholy
Respite to most, yet I’m known for crime
As I grow late I still am on time
When my life winds up, as my end grows true,
You can rest well knowing I’ll revisit you
What am I?
Triplets of thought, though they’re far from identical
All tactics to gain, from straightforward to poetical
Their purpose is known to aid in earning
But they can be evaded through wisdom and learning.
The riddle public spoke, so here: take a sexy, enchanted riddle.
The slivers that I leave, no whole they are from
they cannot be touched; not by anyone
My two eyes, bad luck they bring
When I am 6’5 you still tower over me
My oil, useless in machinery and food
Call someone my name and you’d curtail their mood
What am I?
If you wish to pass, you first must solve my sexy, enchanted riddle