The Blooms of Perennial Wisdom: Chapter 2

The rain was still pouring outside, but the heat of the fireplace and the chaotic chatter of the customers dispelled it from Theodore's mind. One of Rumporth's more questionably decent taverns, The Handsome Devil was cramped this hour of the day. The owner of the place, always sitting behind the bar was definitely not handsome, but he did possess some undefined devilish quality.

The Blooms of Perennial Wisdom: Chapter 1

It was around sundown. Although, sun rarely visits these parts.

The light filtering through the dark blanket of clouds was fading and oil lanterns took its place. Heavy rain was pouring down like God's rods, crumbling Theodore Hold's constantly malfunctioning parasol and aptly revealing him to be as out of place as he already felt. A chapel was nearby. He stood beside a weather-beaten cypress tree, part of a small congregation of figures surrounding a hole in the ground. Funerals always made him uneasy. It was the people there. This one, luckily, was attended only by a few.

Knights' Nights

There once was a knight

who always at night

sad poems he wrote

to deal with love drought

After much thinking

and certainly drinking

the knight left the bar

to go really far

for some sort of quest:

To slay evil monsters,

be on all WANTED posters

Be rich,

kill a witch

Save innocent people,

help even the cripple

Don't be like the rest,

but only the best

He drove across plains in his shiny white Porsche

(Some say it's unfitting, improper and silly

And nobody thinks it helps jousting really

But goes so much faster than the traditional horse.)

And he battled for a king

who was known to be just

for it is the common thing,

like they say it is a “must”

Liberating helpless people using pointy battle forks

swording through the trolls and goblins and especially the orcs

So he did all deeds of valor

Even he became a sailor

to explore all magic places

see all kinds of different faces

But despite trying a lot

little pleasure to him brought

for the hollow in his heart

had not found it's missing part

And he watched night skies alight

while sad poems he did write

* * *

A Waste of

One kills and kisses

cordial wishes

It's not a crime

my name is Time

* * *