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Pérdida del Amor; A Hyspian Poem


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Perdida del Amor

By Vicente Murietta

File:Benjamin West - The Pilgrim Mourning His Dead Ass - Google Art  Project.jpg - Wikimedia Commons

 

¿Esto es amor?

 

¿Este dolor en mi alma?


¿Este sentimiento de que mi amor por ella nunca se desvanecerá?


¿Este sentimiento de que mi corazón va a explotar sin ella?


Dios, ¿cómo puedo esperar continuar si ella no está conmigo?


Cuando está lejos en sus sueños, ¿dónde puede volar alto todo el tiempo que quiera?


¡Su palacio en las nubes la llama una y otra vez!


Dios, te pido, Rey Todopoderoso del Cielo, que me devuelvas mi hermoso amor.

 

 

[!] Copies of the above Poem are passed around to residents of Osanora, Cordoba, Nueva Tierra, and any who are capable of understanding the language.

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Ser Gustaven von Halsfield, proud knight of Hyspia, happily claps his hands together to signify his appreciation for the poem, "I sure do wish I understood what it was saying!" the Hyspian knight would say aloud, scratching the side of his head in confusion.

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Havardr stood in the tavern of Osanora, sipping on the foreign flavor of Margarita's and Horchata's. A stranger passed the poem towards him, a light confused face was given as he gripped the parchment. Looking down on the foreign language, he simply shook his head and crumpled the poetry. Tossing it into an unknown corner, to never be rediscovered.

"Damn foreigners and their propaganda."

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Carlos Mendez reads through the poem with interest, giving a quick nod of support and appreciation afterwards.

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Padre Agustin reads the poem and remarks, "This is truly..based"

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Holy Sir Santiago Altamirano would read over the poem, then commenting on it "Es amor

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Kor'garr would nod thoughtfully in response to the elegantly flowing stanzas, his crimson eyes gazing into the empty air. "Hmm... Kor'garr tinkz it zoundz 'hozh..." The orc glances down with a shrug, before tapping beautifully inscribed pages with the fingers of his good hand. "Butz wut'z it blahh'zin? Kor'garr kannubz reed diz."

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"Bet he used that Elven Okanir-Translate book for this." Says a Rhoswenii peasant.

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Mirabella Violet, Court Poet of Haense, came across this poem. She made a face as she attempted to read it, which was futile, but approved anyways.

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Apollonia de Savin weeps, thoroughly moved by this work of art.

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