I love Chimecho! This is a point that I have ever made to anyone, even my best friends. I think Chimecho is a really beautiful Pokemon, despite the little publicity it gets. Here, I wrote a poem from the point of view of one.
This was done completely on a whim. No planning, I just thought, "Oh, I want to do a poem on Chimecho!" And away I went. Hope it's fine.
echo
chime…chime…
fading into the distance.
rustle...
i am one with the ghosts,
singing their lullabies for them,
whispering their secrets
to ears that will never exist.
-
here, souls that have lost their smiles
wounds invisible, yet screaming, somehow
their memories refuse to flee,
though her joys have flown like shadows.
-
a desolate place.
the mists wash around the bleached,
almost too perfect white of the stones,
mingled shades and souls of the past lives
that passed through this dim passageway
into the smoke world of time beyond.
-
there are wisps of leaves,
threads of life lying here and there,
traces of what might once have lived here,
before it became the spirits' road.
there was life here, once. where has it gone?
have the dead souls chased it all away?
-
where light meets dark, wishes meet despair,
i sing out my gentle, lonely song
regardless of what surrounds me,
regardless of who hears—
if anyone even hears in the first place.
-
chime…
it is a melancholy sound, i find, strangely
echoing, muffled, on the headstones,
but carrying all the way through the mist.
the lonely, haunted chimes of the spirits,
many think.
-
but none know that it is i in actuality,
i, the singular living soul in a field of asphodel,
almost as lifeless as the rest, but…alive.
a breath of life, of song, in the dry rustles of death.
-
why do i still live here? many wonder.
i wonder too. why have i never left this ground,
why have i forever sung so passionately to no one?
-
i guess it's just the absence. the absence of everything—
no movement, no real sounds, just the voices of ghosts
and the sighs for what might have been and never was;
nothing real—
that makes me want to bring it some life,
just some form of sound, colour, vividness
-
i want to give this place the thing it is missing,
the thing it is farthest from—life,
keep singing to it, in the hope that it might do something,
perhaps give it a spark of hope.
-
i'll always stay here, i guess.
i'll keep singing to the stones,
stirring up the last skeletons of leaves,
the last dry, crumpled blades of grass,
willing a place that has been dead for centuries
to come back to life.
-
over and over again, the "chimes of the spirits",
until either the shadows and mist are gone
and life blooms upon death,
or i fade away, into an echo.
chime…chime…