A note on the notice board.

[Samler 1566]

The note contains three poems, there is no name of the writer, the paper is all white, the ink is golden coloured and the note says.

"One may thinki about what we truely are.

We claims we are better and yet proves us right.

I ask myself every night and I will untill I know.

Do we deserve to live here?

What would you call love?

I know it as pain and betray.

I surely hope I am alone.

So the rest will know the true love.

Instead of my pain and suffering.

If you know the burden of hundreds of stones.

Then you know sharing it will make it lighter.

If you ever feel that burden of hundreds of stones.

Do find your most trusted of lliran, let them give a hand."

[JoakimVonAnka 63]

Is this signed by anyone?[]

Aerion passes by, his gaze stopping by the new parchment on the board. As of recently, he had trained his reading skills quite well, but the poems made no sense to the boy. He shrugs, convinced that it isn't important.

[Samler 1566]

((As I stated in the first line of the thread, there is no name of the writer, so it is not signed.))

[~≈Panda≈~ 290]

Amalia looks over at the poems, then comes closer to read them. She stands there for about an hour or two just staring at the poems, before walking off with a slightly lonely expression on her face.

[Eleatic 1033]

[i love how your in Haelun'Or. Panda. ;/ Also, RP post incoming].

[~≈Panda≈~ 290]

( WHY DOES PANDA ALWAYS GET LOCATIONS WRONG?! )

[Samler 1566]

Seth leaves another note with 2 more poems on, yet not signed.

"The Silver City we call home.

The beautiful city we adore.

The glowing city at night I see.

The pained people I see.

Under a wail of smiles.

Under a wail of laughter.

I want to change that.

Yet the power I do not posses

One may ask for silence.

One may ask for voices.

Then not asked for voice.

Silence came and did not leave.

This one now shouts for voice.

Do not let silence rule.

For then life doesn't go."

[paladist 45]

Drecar walks by the notice board as he does every so often. He notices the poems posted. He reads them all. He continues walking, repeating the poems in a low tone to help him remember them.

[Samler 1566]

During the night, Seth places one note under the other poems, with the same white paper and golden coloured ink.

"Poetry not my craft is.

Poetry not my craft to be is.

One shall leave poetry at once.

One last farwell from broken me.

-Apparently far from a poet."

[KannAllyEnd 12]

Ante'vuln walks past the post-board, looking for a distraction. It doesn't do to be stuck in one's head for too long, and it's a pitfall Ante'vuln is prone to. Conversation is a usual, pleasant distraction, but she doesn't have the energy for it today. Perhaps a book, then? A tale or two to interrupt the monotonous pace of reflection she finds herself sinking beneath?

But on her way, she spots a few new papers pinned to the board in her peripherals. Her interest is captured; another voice in the word, fluttering in a captive breeze. The world is never bereft of sentiment, and Ante'vuln's in the mood to capture one of such, keep it for her own for a little while.

Introspection is a lonely business; could you blame her for wishing for a bit of the outside world keep hold of in a poet's phrase?

The gold-curled letters on the page are sweet, lovelorn. Vuln's eyes fill with tears. Empathy in anonymity is so much more powerful, to her. There is no one to be strong for, only feelings to curl about her thoughts and soften them into bittersweet and sublime emotion. It doesn't matter that the verses are amateur by the poet's own admission. They are honest. They seek readers without demanding a response. And for that, they are pure. The painful-sweet, clear tones of heartbreak clang through Vuln's writer's heart, and she resounds emphatically with the noise.

"Thank you, llir," she whispers to the page, pressing her two fingers against it in a sort of salute. And, with a small quill kept upon her person, she scrawls a tiny reply in the corner.

"Ache tonight,

Rest tomorrow,

Let your heart

Be drowned in sorrow.

Enjoy this ache

For deep within

The snapping bow

Will only bend.

In breaking

There is revelation

And only pain

Brings divination.

--Suffer well, my friend. I wish you insight."

[Samler 1566]

Seth smiles and almost shread a tear as he reads the poem from someone else, he did almost not notice it, being written in the corner like that, he gets a small note and sets it just under the poem written by someone that was not him, once again it is bone white paper but this time blue ink.

"Thank you llir, the poem helps.

-The far away from a poet mali."

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.