{"sf1_id":366858,"sf2_id":"GnDrYEPe","title":"I wither besides the lush flower bed","author":"QuentixStarwing","words":452,"posted_at":"2012-04-17T22:34:00.000Z","tags":["Bed","Besides","European","Flower","Poectic","Poem","Poetry","form","imagination","lush","the","wither"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/366858-i-wither-besides-the-lush-flower-bed","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/GnDrYEPe","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=366858\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"A poetic form that I wanted to share with those people here :3, It's of the European Poetic form: Ballade. Here we go~, let's see what you think, please enjoy","content":"I wither beside the lush flower bed  \nI am full of life and yet I stand as bones  \nWhere I can sip the dew drops I find myself unquenchable  \nTouched by falling petals, my skin stings with pricklers ping  \nUnrivaled in my stance still I am but an empty husk  \nBridging a society together, but divided on every subject following suit  \nTainted by the halt of agelessness; there an aged grin forms  \nAs my kindness knows no bounds my fists are beating upon a face  \nCackling like a wicked man, silence grips the corner of the great room  \nForever lost within a spiral of pandemonium.  \n  \nIf tales are endless in their reign, why find mine coming to its close...  \nHow one's house and sky are both blue, with blades of yellow grass around  \nGallantly racing to a place of honor, while the dark hands of the vile congratulate me on betrayal  \nClutching my own throat and squeezing with no end in sight; the pleasant sight of the dummy being choked greets you  \nHow like a fly that is so free in motion, while bound to thy sticky paper do I see the world fade away  \nWhat is a web that plays a net to a spider has let its own host fall through  \nWhen failures can stand at the top of their game and become ones who succeed  \nLost in a draft and still ducking out on the final moments of the MPs coming close  \nHow a mansion is endless with space and when I enter, the closet-like space becomes my boundary?  \nForever lost within a spiral of pandemonium.\n\n\u0026nbsp;Where the black dog is a proud white wolf  \nHow the gold fish might be even a swift codfish  \nWhere the mounted horse shall become like the zebra  \nHow there can be a form of chaos unlike any other that is simple logic law  \nHad the minds that were searching to fix me, find my body respond in error  \nThy form is berated for the callous treatment of it; when all I do is gently pat with cotton swabs  \nClear away all of the mess and still leave the area in shambles  \nHow like a waterfall singing loudy, when one looks all they see is a stream steppe present  \nSomewhere may there be a breeze that can blow, only to have a gale smack my flesh  \nForever lost within a spiral of pandemonium.  \n  \nTaken with a sacred lace that brushes me  \nPlease be kind, with a yell and a smack to the face  \nAll I can be is a big man, a person of no dimension  \nWell here is that lost plow; burrowing into moist soils!  \nForever lost within a spiral of pandemonium.  \n  \n  \n  \n\n"}