#this is original work

[where-is-the-angst]

okkk ok ok here’s the poem i wrote!! @elronthemage @imanidiotforu :-)

The Allegory of the Cave: A Sestina

In my home it’s hot and stuffy; shadows churn past rodent patter—

All the shadows glide not roughly; bronze-clad chains lie shining still. 

Black and blue, my gaze is shrouded, dreary; brazen rocks a-looming—    

Til’ a growing shimmer, bursting, blinding: stab of shining gloom.    

Howls echo past my chamber; chamber filled by howls rising— 

Past the rough-hewn soles of wonder; ponder past a moment’s grave. 

Sleep for which I’ve fallen, nodding; rock is etched in darkness: grave,  

There I lay beside best-bedroll; house columns drip a-patter.

Shaking off a strange sensation: gleaming shapes, recurring, rising—

Hopes, my longing: grasp the moving markings on the walls so still.

Daytime brings the moving figures; figures absent in the gloom—

Now as brightness glosses rock; the shrieking sheep-herd comes a-looming.

“‘Least I know it is a sheep-herd,” said my friend as shapes were looming—

Sheep-herds are but shrieking, shifting, shapes, or marks of day: not grave.

Surely speaking truth—my interest piquing; scorning nighttime gloom.

Friends are knowing unlike I am, for often most ne’er witting patter—

Then I heard a hooting holler, sheep-herd moves—then halts a-still. 

Shine-lit shackles, shackled hands; black-spotted shape—or sheep-herd rising.   

Dearest friend asleep by wall, his mind enlightened; the shadows rising—

Peering at the gleaming figures; friend’s so-sudden hush a-looming.

While spots move, a horrid shrieking bursts behind me, tempts me to un-still—

Knowing sheep-herd ne’er so rowdy; solemn gaze a stoning grave,

Bronze-safe shackles clanking; jolting, shifting—turning, midst the patter, 

Curious creature glares upon me, piercing. Muffled mind a-gloom.

Soaring high near corner wall; what horror in my gloom!

Talons reaching, wide-eyed screeching; movement mirrors precious sheep-herd’s rising—

Blinding light behind its golden eyes; I yell to friend amidst the patter,

He, awoken, tracks the sheep-herd: shadows shift as owl threatens, looming,

Truly sheep-herd’s truth was groundless. I sprint past owl, thoughts a-grave.

No-longer home behind me; piercing light, a sapphire sky ne’er still. 

Striking true as dazzling daytime, cave is cloaked in darkness still,

Winged-white doves and owl flutter; heart in melancholy gloom—

For mirage of shackles, fallen, when I left the early grave,

Friend is but the sheep-herd. Sullen owl; no wonder is a-rising,

Sparkle glosses trees while shadows shroud his cave, the dreary bruise a-looming—

Peace: I’ve reached, for: brightened mind and lightened heart are forevermore a-patter.

Still, friend’s heart remains too-certain—blinded, while my gleaming sun is rising, 

Gloom in new-found evermore: the cave—the cage remains a-looming, 

Patter goes my thinking soul; for friend remains benighted while beside his very grave.

[prince-darkleboop]

Thinking randomly about a certain idea

>have a necromancer character >trying to sort out the place of necromancy in the world >generally has accepted it is a “necessary evil” >why? it is a couple generations after dealing with an awful zombie situation >and necromancers helped many battles go from losses to stalemates (or even won a couple) >got to that conclusion after a friend said that a way to make necromancy make sense in a world is to sort out society’s concept of death >if death is evil, then necromancy is evil >if death is good, hell, if risen dead have a place in society, necromancy is good >main source of good risen dead: MtG Amonkhet >also trying to sort out necromancer character in general >realizes a lot of the leaders I had from whatever fadangled plot were women >necromancer is male >me: what if he’s a trans man? >Suddenly all the broken plot threads turn into something different and I’m INSPIRED >me: ... excellent idea!