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A True Mark Of A Man Torn
Watching His World Fall
Emotions Decay, Now Dust
A Hollow Shell Formed
A Double-Edged Sword, Now His
As He Walks Through Hell
The Ones He Loves, Hurt
His Anger Only Swells But....
Can He Save Them All?
All He Knows, His World
Crumbles Before Him, He Failed
How Could A Beast Win?
Now He Has Nothing
Nothing, But Himself, His Pain
His Despair, His Wrath
Fuhrer King Bradlemian Rhapsody
"Is this the real life? Or just our Father's dream?
Caught in a landslide, no escape from their Alchemy."
"Open your eyes, look up to Central Command.
I am the Fuhrer. I need no sympathy."
"Because I'm Super Fast, Super Strong.
Have a wife and a son."
"Anything Mustang does, doesn't really matter to me.....
"Father....just killed a man.
Put my sword up to his neck. Sliced it quickly now he's dead."
"Father....his life had just begun....
But now I've gone and cut it all away."
"Father...oooOooooo.....didn't mean to go and die...
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, go ahead...make one more.
I'm just a Homunculus."
"Too late....this country's done. Human Transmutation sign, body sacrificing time.
Good bye, everybody. I've got to go. Gotta slay this Ishvalan and hide the truth."
"Father....oooOooooo (Anything Mustang does....) I just kinda died.
Sometimes things just do not go as planned."
-Que the Homunculus Guitar Solo with Piano-
"I see a little shrimp and a metal ma
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More