|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Put Out the Light, P2
"How is she doing?"
"She's alive... that's all that matters. But I think she may be coming down with a fever. She's been pushing herself too hard..."
"I've noticed... She doesn't exactly know when to quit."
Slowly, Twilight's eyes began to creak open, and the world around her blurred and shook. A terrible throb came through her skull and she winced, her ears laying flat against the top of her head. Moaning miserably, Twilight curled her legs up against her belly, feeling nauseous. A hoof brushed against her bangs. Though it pained her to look, Twilight forced her eyes to focus and looked upwards. The faces of Rarity and Pinkie Pie began to come into view. She opened her mouth to speak, but Rarity put her hoof in front of it.
"Easy now, darling. You need your rest." The unicorn tried to smile, but not much came of it. When Twilight tried to sit, Pinkie pushed her back down and then pulled a cloak over her as she shivered.
"What happened?" she managed to ask. The memories of earlier bega
Put Out the Light, P1
Death was a curious concept. Back in the old days, it was thought of as an old friend who came to collect those who were ready to read the end of their stories. It had never harmed Ponyville, or Equestria for that matter. It merely did its job, letting the world turn in its natural order. But that was then. Now, Death not only came to the doors of old ponies, but to the doors of those who were not ready. It riddled the land with ashy black hills where grass once grew. The trees, so vivid and fruitful, were now sparse and sickly. So many memories, happy memories, gentle memories, were now buried beneath piles and piles of destruction and bile. The bright colors on the corner sweet shop had faded into a dismal gray. The elegant laid detail on the town's boutique now was nothing but walls and chipping paint. The skies once were clear and well managed. Now, with no one to tend to them, they had a never-ending mask of gray that covered the desolate earth below. And the life and blood of Pon
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
Keep in Touch!
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