They call me Horace

Moderators: Forum Moderators, Active DMs

Post Reply
User avatar
Hour
Posts: 82
Joined: Fri Dec 04, 2015 1:06 pm

They call me Horace

Post by Hour » Tue Mar 28, 2017 11:11 am

And they danced before my eyes
in fields of green far away from me
as I bled in the grass I was sure
they would be the last thing I would see
but my soul remained in my body
and it remained on the forest floor
and I kept on living, somehow more.
Last edited by Hour on Mon Apr 24, 2017 4:35 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Hour
Posts: 82
Joined: Fri Dec 04, 2015 1:06 pm

They call me Horace

Post by Hour » Tue Mar 28, 2017 11:36 am

People tell me often
you don't say a word
people tell me often
you don't need that sword
people tell me often
you don't need that metal skin
people tell me often
you know there are places to live in
people tell me often
that there is more than just the road
people tell me often
there is wisdom I fail to see
and I really do try to disagree
but folk I find, simply cannot,
hear me.
Last edited by Hour on Mon Apr 24, 2017 4:36 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Hour
Posts: 82
Joined: Fri Dec 04, 2015 1:06 pm

They call me Horace

Post by Hour » Tue Mar 28, 2017 6:29 pm

I have been asked
how to this madness do I confine
how do I carry on so fine
there is strength and it is mine
It is duty and it is power
something these vultures cannot devour
it is a single stalwart lonely hope
beyond reason, blade
or rope.
Last edited by Hour on Mon Apr 24, 2017 4:36 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Hour
Posts: 82
Joined: Fri Dec 04, 2015 1:06 pm

They call me Horace

Post by Hour » Fri Mar 31, 2017 8:54 pm

A warrior of the road once asked me
what I said when I still spoke
so a tale I told.

Upon the shattered shore I saw
grieving fathers cry
and broken sons dissolve
rend betwixt ships and rock
broken bones and death, a lot
pure, promise ideal, peal and blister
break and tear, sundered skin and rotted hair
kings in their white tombs
decayed in their final doom
lords of constant prayer
defiled hope and spread despair
upon this carrion carcass of a place
ravenous vultures did lay waste
the hopeful few and innocent.

But that was long ago.
And I could not have possibly lived through
such things.
Last edited by Hour on Mon Apr 24, 2017 4:36 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Hour
Posts: 82
Joined: Fri Dec 04, 2015 1:06 pm

They call me Horace

Post by Hour » Mon Apr 17, 2017 8:45 pm

I ache for a release.
My greed for the rushing, choking, vomit-inducing fear of the mortality-ender seizes me.
Wild, wanton, destruction, the feel of rushing iron, shrieking armor and pain.
Screaming steel dominated by seething, white-knuckled, uncontrollable rage, an indomitable desire for horrible, victory.
The stink, the rot, the stench of spirits and tobacco, overpowered by the pounding metal limbs of the beast, the waft of wax that boils like blood.
The wail of my victory, the singing cries of a crowd, each face I long to twist into my rage for loss.
Where is my tourney now?

I wished I had wrote this
But it was the man in the ring
And he is now dead.
Last edited by Hour on Mon Apr 24, 2017 4:36 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Hour
Posts: 82
Joined: Fri Dec 04, 2015 1:06 pm

They call me Horace

Post by Hour » Fri Apr 21, 2017 5:22 am

How you sparkle, evergreen.
How you cut, so very clean.
How you are, everything to me.
How you have never told a lie.
How you are always by my side.
How you so easy, catch my eye.
How you entrance me, in your sheen.
How crystal clear, you always ring.
I love you, precious thing.
Precious thing.
Precious thing.
Precious thing.
precious

thing

Post Reply