[9:04:23 PM] Cederak: You called it "blah blah poem."
[9:04:28 PM] Kakaru: oh right yes
[9:04:29 PM] Kakaru: yes I did
A familiar face under new mask
Lingering questions not to be asked
The friend I once had, now a legend of old
Butterfly-catcher, in statue of gold
Once you were small, before this grand end
Now I pause in my tracks to respect my old friend
Your bright orange eyes and strong heartlight beat
were wasted on power, the allure of the heat
When treetops swayed in the glittering sun
when the deadliest urge was to learn how to run
over dunes of shifting, rolling sand
and to swim underwater, no pretense so grand
as to claim ourselves the saviours of broken earth
to give ourselves higher meaning or worth
We never asked for a destiny great
or to wrestle with meanings of love and of hate
We simply laughed, and enjoyed our short lives
from the lily-pads deep to the tunnels of hives
But then the day came, unexpected and cruel
to steal you away and embark on a duel
against evil powers in fortresses dark
To stop, not kill, the great Toa's mark
They gave you the stone as I looked on in horror
A light flashed, you screamed, and were simply no more
Where once my friend stood on the engraved stones
stood a Toa I knew who must leave us, alone
His armour was grand, polished and clean
His eyes were dark, unfamiliar and mean
and I knew that then, in the beat of a heart
our peaceful lives would be torn apart
Your capsule was sent off in fanfare and tears
and the silence was filled with the whirring of gears
As the crowds left the docks and I stayed behind
watching the sky with one question in mind:
Would anyone know you, once you arrived
as my friend who caught insects in derelict hives?
Maybe you'd save them, train in your powers
but they'd never see you with hands full of flowers
As the days grew to years, my memories dulled
and feelings of apathy, absence were culled
Our lives went on as the bitter ache subsided
and no tales reached our ears of nations divided
until the day your scarred canister came
inscribed upon it, a memory-soaked name
My fingers brushed steel and the lid fell away
The inside was cold, smooth and dark grey
Inside it, a body, decorated and grand
A ceremony was held in far-distant land
for their great hero, defender of all
My friend, the Toa, had learned how to fall
As his mask is removed and heart laid to rest
others will tell me this was for the best
His death is an honour, they say, sad, with a smile
but the rocks are laid down on that unfeeling pile
And as I gaze at that unfamiliar mask
I can only think of one question to ask:
does anyone know him, my friend of old
as anything more than a hero in gold?
Edited by Kakaru, Nov 05 2012 - 01:03 AM.
