Hello, everyone. It's been a while since I posted anything on here, so I figured I'd put this up. I'll be honest -- I don't really have any intent to continue writing my story "Golden Smile and Silver Tears". Not because I don't like the concept (I've actually had it entirely planed out for a long time now), but because I just don't have the time. Graduation and all. So I sincerely apologize to my few readers. However, I will post this short piece for anyone who is interested.

About the Poem:

On October 8th 2009, I sat down and decided to write something that was very close to my heart and probably should have been written down a long time ago. With the Japanese release of the remakes of Gamefreak's phenomenal games, Pokemon Gold, Silver and Crystal, just passed, I knew that - while waiting for the North American versions to be released - it was time to pay homage to the games that no doubt helped shape the person I am today. It may sound totally ridiculous, but these games are the biggest part of me; my "Heart" and "Soul", if you will. They have sparked my imagination and creative spirit on a daily basis for the past fourteen years, they encouraged my love of nature, the outdoors, exercise, adventure and so much more. Gold and Silver are without a doubt the very fibre of my being and I am not afraid to admit it. So, without further ado, I present to you my very inadequate and humble tribute to the region of Johto (Jouto-chihou), the land that captured my heart so many years ago, and still holds it tight.

This poem is dedicated to the great Satoshi Tajiri and the extremely talented Ken Sugimori, both of whom constructed my childhood. But, first and foremost, this poem is dedicated to a certain six people. You know who you are.

All my love,

- Robyn

Under the Golden Sun and Silver Moon

Route 29.

"Where the Winds of New Beginnings Blow",

Carry me to the Cherrygrove,

A grassy midpoint between the coast,

And the first trial of many,

A Violet obstacle beneath a swaying beam.

Appropriate to start here, possibly?

Slowly careening through ancient temples,

Savoring the first victory and racing down a redbrick road,

Sea breeze dancing as fishing-lines fly.

And then Darkness.

Sore feet wandering through a chasm of abyss,

A man breathes fire,

And suddenly it is light,

Until falling down the old well,

Azalea flowers gently descending onto a motionless form.

Protect those who cannot protect themselves,

And scuffle in an indoor forest,

Riddled with insects and disease.

Escape this man-made wood only to enter a natural one,

Illusions cast from trees make anything seem small,

Especially the useless shrine;

A wooden box concealing brilliant gold and stunning silver.

The false visions end with the assaulting sounds of radio signals,

A bullet train,

And frenzied, Sunday shoppers.

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road" to flashing lights,

And abandon your morals,

Along with your cash,

Throw them away to the underground.

Victory comes again as a crying girl refuses to give recognition,

Until she is reminded.

Up ahead,

Children run through flowery fields,

And Wyrms lie in wait,

To sting their ankles,

They are soon caught with nets and set straight,

And shiny rocks and sweet fruit are the captor's reward.

But here,

Laying among smoldering ashes,

Exists something different.

Where Tin and Brass once stood proudly;

A visage to those truly omnipotent,

Now all but one remains,

The other lost beneath Silver Tears.

But Rainbow Wings of resurrection have given birth,

To Thunder,

Water,

And Fire.

Together, they awaken and run,

Death not limiting them any further.

The Heart of Life perches atop his tower,

Content with his works,

He awaits the day that Purity will emerge from a forested path.

On the streets below,

Five young woman dance elegantly,

As a graceless monster accompanied by an elderly man watch in awe.

Illuminated red, paper lanterns signal the coming of night,

Calling Specters and Demons to flood the historic streets.

And the Waterfall roars.

It is ignored.

Instead, attention is drawn to the sea.

A light pierces the dark and a ship horn sounds.

A young woman's scream is heard when the light flickers and dies.

Her people protect her,

And she protects the light.

She is their savior;

Clad in steel with Olive skin,

She smells of oranges.

A trip,

There and back,

Across the treacherous sea,

Sees the light shine again.

Repayment is given in the form of iron blows,

Eventually yielding a metallic gem.

Unique,

But uniform all the same,

It is added to the pile.

Three, frothy islands,

Guarded by fallen Brass,

And Wings similar to those of Life,

Are often overlooked,

No matter how important,

In favor of sandy beaches,

Flecked with blood,

From focused fists.

And suddenly soaring,

Far over these islands,

Returning to the home of Iridescent feathers,

Only to leave in a rage.

An Epic will be told of a battle against a great, Scarlet Serpent,

Born from the depths of the sea,

Take a red scale from the surface of the lake,

And spill the blood of a crooked shopkeeper,

With the aid of someone held in high regard.

But there is no warmth in this jubilation.

A frozen blizzard chills to the very core,

And evil returns tenfold.

Beneath yellow bricks;

Beyond happy Sunday shoppers,

A man sits,

Gagged and bound,

There is no ally in this fray,

Only interference,

Like static on an old radio.

Heavier in heart,

Navigate an icy path,

And arrive at a familiar place,

Yet,

A place never visited before.

A place where people,

Like that man held high,

Are raised in abundance;

Brought up against the dragon's fang.

A victory here –

A momentous occasion,

Is stifled by bitter disbelief,

And one more challenge must be overcome.

A Blackthorne in a beautiful, crimson rose;

One more challenge will always rise out of a victory.

Jump the rocky ledges,

Weeds dicing at flesh,

To find you've come full circle.

In much too short a time,

Another journey has begun.

Silver Tears and Rainbow Wings sing through the valleys,

Sing through the caves,

Through temples,

And clearings.

They cry through lonely city nights,

Cry through repressed villainy,

And through death.

But there is always rebirth.

Leave this place for another adventure,

And they will surely call you back.

Fin.


A.N: There's something about Johto that's just indescribable. It's not just an 8-bit map -- it's not even a place. It's a living, breathing organism. I've always thought of Kanto and Johto like a werid, paradoxical father and son. Kanto, while coming first chronologically, seems much younger than Johto. When I think of Kanto, I automatically picture Celadon City, back alley ways, motorcycles, Greasers, Mechanics, Scientists and Gamblers; it has a very eighties kind of feel to it. And I adore it. However... Johto. Well. Johto is completely different. I don't know if I managed to encapsulate my feelings of the region in this poem, but I tried.

Thoughts on this poem would be greatly appreciated. I would also like to know what your own feelings on Pokemon regions are; which region are you most harmonized with? What do you love about that place? Why? Please leave me a review letting me know. As always, I value your constructive criticism!

Thank you.