A Goronic Merchant's Poetry.

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Posted

Our Last Dance

Our last dance never ended. It still replays itself, swaying through my thoughts. From the moment it first began, we've been dancing. My hands remain around yours and the song -which I can't remember- repeats. In my mind it is just you and me, surrounded by nobody. We move clumsily across the floor, your laugh echoes through me, and I drown in your eyes. We both smile into each other as the song stops, but we keep dancing. Our heartbeats create more than enough music. My hand never leaves yours as we walk out, and it all starts again. Our last dance never ended. Though miles and miles separate us, we still dance until the distance means nothing. Like we never left each other's side, we still dance. . .

Tainted Canvas

The wind paints the sky with its collection of colors, spreading them through the Earth and across its canvas.

With the passing time comes new inspiration. The wind sprays white across the mountains and admires their mysterious beauty. Provided with new flavors, it drives them into the Earth and watches the bright yellows, blues, and pinks consume the countryside with their soft petals. The bright colors inspire something greater, the wind groups massive streaks of green over the desolate patches of brown. As the sun moves farther the wind rusts its creations into vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows. Impressed with their beauty, it rips the specks from their homes and blankets the dark ground.

The wind watches as two-legged creatures work against its artwork, destroying it with their own. It fights to preserve and revive the colors that it loves but growing gray contaminates its canvas and destroys its colors. The wind watches its groupings of green succumb to the patches of brown and its white blankets turn dull and dark. The vibrant blue sky turns black but the wind will not quit. It continues to fight for its colors.

together, we are alone

lush emerald grass swells beneath us. a golden light bathes the scenery in its warmth.

the sounds of playing children and anxious dogs are muffled by distance.

we sit on the soft hill, speckled with vibrant orange disowned leaves, and watch the watercolour sky with its nomadic blotches of white.

the wind carries with it the crisp scents of autumn. a soft breeze pulls away your long black hair and gently kisses your cheek. i follow. . .

i watch as you disappear with my perfect day into reality.

your soft hand slips from my loose grasp and the world burns away like newspaper in an inferno.

then. . .

i am alone.

with the damp and soundless night, i am alone.

my knees in the wet grass,

alone. the wind blows cold and sharp through the surrounding leaves, tearing them from their homes.

i see your innocent smile on the moon's pale face and manage a weak response.

we could pretend there was no distance between us.

we could replay our perfect day until the bitter vinegar taste of aloneness subsides.

or we could face reality.

the reality that the distance does exist and our day may never come.

reality wins.

we, are alone.

together,

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Posted

Great!

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Posted

Nice.

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Posted

Thanks guys. :joy:

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Posted

Not bad at all. I enjoyed it.

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Posted

'A wonderful 4/5, very good,'

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