Underground_Network
June 23rd, 2009, 04:41 PM
I saw two figures in the distance.
They were two men, most likely in their twenties,
One with golden-brown hair and the other with sleek black hair.
They stared at each other, five feet between them,
Each twiddling his fingers at his side.
It reminded me of a yoga advertisement
I saw on television just a couple of days ago,
Where there was all this talk of 'relieving stress'
And 'letting the energy flow through your body.'
To me it all just looked painful.
Well, the bronze knight with golden-brown hair
Cracked his neck to his right side,
And then put his hands in front of him and
Nonchalantly cracked his knuckles
And made a weird chattering noise with his teeth.
The pale white guardian with his sleek black hair
Responded with a sinister glare, a deep sea
Of abyss pouring out of his eyes into the
Bronze knight's, blinding him for half a second.
And then the pale white guardian went for his pocket...
He pulled out a switchblade, seven inches in length,
It was a shiny metallic shade of hatred
And its blackened grip reminded me of
The shadows that stalk my past actions,
And condense to form a cloud of paranoia over my head.
The bronze knight with golden-brown hair
And daring green eyes reached toward his pocket
And withdrew a piece of paper, white with blue lines
And a golden border, that shimmered so brightly
It overpowered the sun, driving it into hiding.
Suddenly, with the withdrawal of this white sheet of paper
With its blue lines and its golden border
And some words written illegibly in dark blue pen,
The sphere emitting light descended into the depths of the unknown
And was replaced by nothing, nothing but a serene darkness.
The darkness was calming, yet frightening.
It nearly drove me away until I saw
The pale white guardian drive toward
The bronze knight at rapid speed.
The bronze knight calmly dodged a near fatal blow
From the pale white guardian's switch blade.
He simply nodded his head and smiled.
He held up the paper and started to speak,
In a surprisingly low-pitched, booming voice,
"What has been done, has been done.
This sheet of paper shall help cease this tomfoolery."
The pale white guardian, with his sleek black hair
And sinister eyes of hazel, smirked back
And shouted at the top of his lungs,
In a high squeaky voice, "Tomfoolery,
Tomfoolery you say? No paper can make up for failed actions."
And just then, and just there
The pale white guardian swung
At the proud bronze knight
With his seven-inch switch blade,
But he missed, and the momentum of his swing
Caused him to bring the blade back around
And impale it into the side of his own skull.
The bronze guardian stared at the ground,
A tear escaping from his daring green eyes.
He bent down on one knee and stared up at
The serene darkness encompassing his body, his thoughts.
He got back up onto his feet, took out the white paper
With its blue lines, its blue ink, and its golden border
And tore it to shreds.
Next he turned his head, looking directly in my eyes,
And mouthed two words that to this day I have yet to decipher...
He reached into his left pants pocket, pulled out a revolver
And shot himself in the head, causing blood and fragments of his skull
To splatter and scatter everywhere.
Shooting yourself is just like yoga, I thought to myself...
Calming and relaxing, yet oh so painful.
They were two men, most likely in their twenties,
One with golden-brown hair and the other with sleek black hair.
They stared at each other, five feet between them,
Each twiddling his fingers at his side.
It reminded me of a yoga advertisement
I saw on television just a couple of days ago,
Where there was all this talk of 'relieving stress'
And 'letting the energy flow through your body.'
To me it all just looked painful.
Well, the bronze knight with golden-brown hair
Cracked his neck to his right side,
And then put his hands in front of him and
Nonchalantly cracked his knuckles
And made a weird chattering noise with his teeth.
The pale white guardian with his sleek black hair
Responded with a sinister glare, a deep sea
Of abyss pouring out of his eyes into the
Bronze knight's, blinding him for half a second.
And then the pale white guardian went for his pocket...
He pulled out a switchblade, seven inches in length,
It was a shiny metallic shade of hatred
And its blackened grip reminded me of
The shadows that stalk my past actions,
And condense to form a cloud of paranoia over my head.
The bronze knight with golden-brown hair
And daring green eyes reached toward his pocket
And withdrew a piece of paper, white with blue lines
And a golden border, that shimmered so brightly
It overpowered the sun, driving it into hiding.
Suddenly, with the withdrawal of this white sheet of paper
With its blue lines and its golden border
And some words written illegibly in dark blue pen,
The sphere emitting light descended into the depths of the unknown
And was replaced by nothing, nothing but a serene darkness.
The darkness was calming, yet frightening.
It nearly drove me away until I saw
The pale white guardian drive toward
The bronze knight at rapid speed.
The bronze knight calmly dodged a near fatal blow
From the pale white guardian's switch blade.
He simply nodded his head and smiled.
He held up the paper and started to speak,
In a surprisingly low-pitched, booming voice,
"What has been done, has been done.
This sheet of paper shall help cease this tomfoolery."
The pale white guardian, with his sleek black hair
And sinister eyes of hazel, smirked back
And shouted at the top of his lungs,
In a high squeaky voice, "Tomfoolery,
Tomfoolery you say? No paper can make up for failed actions."
And just then, and just there
The pale white guardian swung
At the proud bronze knight
With his seven-inch switch blade,
But he missed, and the momentum of his swing
Caused him to bring the blade back around
And impale it into the side of his own skull.
The bronze guardian stared at the ground,
A tear escaping from his daring green eyes.
He bent down on one knee and stared up at
The serene darkness encompassing his body, his thoughts.
He got back up onto his feet, took out the white paper
With its blue lines, its blue ink, and its golden border
And tore it to shreds.
Next he turned his head, looking directly in my eyes,
And mouthed two words that to this day I have yet to decipher...
He reached into his left pants pocket, pulled out a revolver
And shot himself in the head, causing blood and fragments of his skull
To splatter and scatter everywhere.
Shooting yourself is just like yoga, I thought to myself...
Calming and relaxing, yet oh so painful.