Pantoum: You		Ariel
Stuff of Legend		His Critical Weapon

Note: (000, YYMMDD) = the approximate Yahoo Message Board entry number and date.
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You desire the night You called the day light You danced to Sarah's songs by candle light~

You called the day light You rose from what loved you By candle light You sang Sarah's songs~

You rose from what loved you You splashed heart waters in your eyes You sang Sarah's song In the morning light~

You splashed heart waters in your eyes You smiled and sipped your coffee In the morning light You desired the night.

Robin Minick (WRM99) © Copyright 1998

A melody played on the wind heralding your arrival, and you sang into our hearts the songs of spring.~

Spirit of the howling entity tappin on our souls. Inviting us to soar with you on night wing.~

We, the foolish, believe that the slumber fey have lulled us into a dreamer's sleep.~

'Tis Ariel who whispers in his sing-song way, our hearts and souls he'd keep.~

He has charmed the child in we to rise with him and take a chance, upon the warm breath of another Spring; to live, and love, and dance.

Robin Minick (WRM99) © Copyright 1998

Princesses and diamond rings, fuzzy knights and dragon kings~

Queens of scale and queens of grove, queens of war and queens of love~

They've all been here before.. in this land of luck and legend..in this realm of lore.~

Adventure sadness, adventure joy. Depends upon your game my boy.~

Wraiths and goblins, ghouls and ghosts; will greet you at the gates as hosts.~

Princesses who'll spread their wings, galant knights and majestic kings~

Queens of scale and queens of grove, queens of war and queens of love.~

They've all gathered here before.. in this land of luck and legend, in this realm of lore...

Robin Minick (WRM99) © Copyright 1998

There had to be a story, some emotion, but that was when HE controlled my pen. That man, that scholarly man, whose name escapes me, had murdered the dreamer in me then.

He used a critical weapon which measured rythmn and beat, but forgot to listen to the sound of my heart. That weapon beat the beauty out of my song..out of my soul...then.

He gaged my pages without using his heart's eyes, so I guess, he couldn't really see how he had been killing me.

He demanded style and God... I remember when I used to smile.

He stole my muses like a thief asking me to explain my pain or why sometimes I chose to rhyme out of time...

To him I was a rebel who never should have picked up a pen. To me he was a devil and I hated him back then.

Still, I do not conform to his idea of how it ought to be. Sometimes I rhyme..and maybe there will be a bit of meter. Somewhere inside of me.

As long as my story's told or I'm able to stroke a heart's string... I'll remember the professor and all those things he'd said, and thank the Lord he hadn't won and my muses weren't all dead.

Robin Minick (WRM99) © Copyright 1998

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