In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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Post by darkunslint on Sept 24, 2009 14:06:16 GMT -4
Right guys. Im really sorry that these poems are getting more and more depressing but I write what I write.
Tortured; Why do you hurt me so much? Is it sin to want to be touched? When friends turn their back on what you are, you just want to brake away afar. You tore away what I need to live, you ask me for what I cannot give. If you want me gone just say the word, I'll sprout the wings of the great white bird. Instead you leave me for all to see, so they can laugh at what you've done to me. Void of confidace, dreams and hope, now you say it was just a joke. You all verbaly tore me, limb from whim, just because I said I love him. Now I'm gone. Are you laughing?
Post by darkunslint on Oct 6, 2009 16:28:27 GMT -4
Next poem This ones a tad happier. The poem has no name.
When the bell doth strike the final chime. The white dove doth fly from thy olive tree. Darkness setting in over thy sky. Eternities end sets over thine land. Thy people cry, Thy world now mine.