El-Dante-Del-Ante

When comes the Night, When goes the light, Of dawn and dusk and noon, When comes the Night, The Dark shines bright and the world sings a different tune. When comes the Night, Your fears take flight. Thought falls to tooth and claw. When comes the Night, Trust not your sight: Same land, different law. When comes the Night, All's wrong is right. Tall tales now hold true. When comes the Night, Heed to the might. All's fair under the moon.

     The pages flipped with fury, with panic. Having failed to serve its purpose, the front cover was brought to meet its contents, slamming and pressing the pages between. The book was then tossed upon another, ranking itself at the top of one of several stacks in the pile. This dominant seat was short lived, as it was quickly surpassed in the hierarchy by a newcomer. This pattern repeated until the shelf was nearly bare.     "Where is it?" Twilight cried frantically to herself. She abandoned the pile and made her way down the aisle to the next towering bookshelf already mostly stripped clean of its holdings and with its own corresponding

Gather round and I'll tell the tale To all you you who'll listen Of our beloved grey mail-mare And her curious twisted vision. An artist with the light yet green Thought he'd have himself a laugh; While cleaning up he chanced upon A mistake that he let pass. On his own, he'd n'er have guessed As to what he'd given rise, But the crowd had seen and given cheer To the mare with crooked eyes. A favorite first, this blonde, winged horse Roused much prate and banter, But rumors spread as wildfire, And she was soon mistook for slander. A mistake this was, and though We hadn't had her for so long, It soon was heard that our dear Ve

     I've always watched them. I've been around for as long as they. Why they appeared, or I, for that matter, I still don't know. When and where, that I used to know, so it must not have been important, and it's just as well, as such thoughts have been lost to the years. The many, many years. The long years watching, enjoying, celebrating. The years grieving. The years devising, plotting. The years devastating, slaughtering. Then the years fleeing, resisting. And then, at last, the years entrapped. And suffering. The many, many years. All those glorious, agonizing years. I may have forgotten, but I still remember.     I remember her. She c

Though it seems our lives are sold It's here we'll see ourselves unfold Be we weak, or be we bold, May we, next dawn, behold. A little blood to build the soul, In time of need, may our luck hold, A safe return our only goal, May we, next dawn, behold. May we return to fields of gold And to our kin where tales are told, To see our young grow full and old, May we, next dawn, behold. May we find strength to keep us whole Through what this world to us may dole, Through blist'ring heat, and biting cold, May we, next dawn, behold.