Title: A Tongue's Counsel
Author: al'Laine Aranielle id Larq
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and I'm not making money out of this so please don't sue me. Star Wars, its characters, and everything else in between, belong to George Lucas...I think.
Rating: G
Category: Poetry
Feedback: Friends, enemies: Send your comments or constructive criticism to larq003@hotmail.com. If you find anything remotely displeasing, do tell!
Summary: Since I write sparingly (due to my strange influx of inspiration…), I'd like to present to the whole Star Wars community on board fanfiction.net, a rather small and pathetic piece of poetry…but poetry nonetheless. Hopefully, it will provide warning to those who know little of the Dark Side and seek it for its easy, less rewarding path. Also, I do hope it will give such meager hints on the debacle it will deliver if one DOES know it exceedingly well yet lacks the wisdom to stay his hand. And so, with utmost grace and civility, I offer you a taste of the darkness that lurks in every hidden corner of the human soul. Do remember not to take mouthfuls, it may prove to be perilous to your health.
Spoilers: None
Archiving: =) I'd be honored to have this posted wherever you fellow fans wish. Though, I'd appreciate it very much if you could drop me a line and tell me where it's at.
Dedication: I thank the friends who have prodded me onward. Without them, I would not think of myself as a writer. My gratitude to trin_chardin, madCOW, dreamer18, and krystal. My hopes are with you guys =) Your praise and criticism has been invaluable.
Author's Note: I would be very grateful for any insights; if you see any grammatical or spelling errors, feel free to point them out. This is my first poetic attempt. I'd appreciate some advice!

***

A Tongue's Counsel

Lies run about in the semblance of truth
Obscured in a mantle of reality
For which no cure can be made to drop its water of healing
Not for the reason of a falsehood's villainous authenticity
But for that reckless excuse that all things were made imperfect

These words that ne'er cease to roll off man's tongue
The equivocation of a hidden source
May yet be the death of many a people
And I weep…
For truly, the tears may wash guilt from the parlance of youth
But not the disease that has penetrated beneath the quilt of flesh

Innocence provides a healthy barrier
That wards off the fires of adulteration.
But if fires so deep that even it cannot be pulled from its roots
So stretched its ravaging hand for centuries on end
Then that wall from which all men are made
Will falter and mingle into the impurity that sulks within the eyes of the living dead

Cry out and rejoice
Not for the contrivance of a plague that blights the mewling babe
But for the knowledge that sweeps its ebony hand to behold a soul so white
That emptiness is a mirage painted upon the heavens made unreachable
A chalice remained untouched.

Pity whose howls echo like shrieks from a dying loon,
Doth speak with coarse throats,
That outcry made awry to gain the favor of a cultured race
Of a dignity so unknown that darkness is a pillow in its bed.

***

The author's little note to you all: I do hope you appreciate the subtle touch of poetry. This tribute to the many who have succumbed and yet fought will, in time, penetrate through that haze your minds have so craftily created. Your criticism, praise, or suggestions will be very much appreciated as well.