A/N Greetings all. Here's a little poem that I wrote in about 20 seconds while momentarily abandoning the use of capitalization. (poetic license, people!) Not much else to say about it...
Disclaimer; Me no own.
it puzzled him sometimes
sometimes at night when he lay in bed and thought about all that had gone by
it puzzled him how something so terrible,
so horribly cruel
had become a part of his life
and not only that.
but how something so terrible,
so horribly cruel,
could be something
he missed.
and when he lay in bed at night, thinking (and sometimes crying, though he would never admit it)
(except maybe, just maybe to her)
he wondered
and wondered some more
how something so wonderful,
so utterly wonderful,
could be something
so cruel.
he had liked it once,
once upon a time.
because of the power it held
that he held
oh yes.
he could do anything with
his magical, wonderful,
powerful knife.
his magical, wonderful,
powerful, cruel knife.
yet sometimes, just sometimes
when no one else was around,
(on a park bench, maybe)
just for a second, he found himself wishing
that he still had his knife.
but its no use wishing
for impossible things,
he told himself sternly.
yet sometimes, just sometimes,
he caught himself wishing.
and not just for a knife.
A/N Pathetic, isn't it? To tell me so yourself, there's a little box where you can leave a review. Just scroll down the page. On a completely random topic, has anyone else read Lyra's Oxford yet? I did! *feels special* I was a little freaked out by the beginning, when the mass of birds are attacking the daemon. That's what comes from watching The Birds late at night. Okay, nothing else to say. *relieved sigh from nonexistent audience*