#iggywrites

Random Word Generated: Lantern

Muse Selected: Doflamingo

The Family knew to leave Doflamingo alone. He was still fuming over the loss of the Ope Ope no Mi. Buffalo and Baby 5 didn’t even have to pester their elders; they knew. Dellinger toddled to and fro but never called the young master’s name; he knew. Jora glanced nervously between him and Gladius, whose coffee began to chill from his inability to touch it; they knew. Diamante and Trebol were discussing quietly between themselves, never loud enough to stir Doflamingo even though they were seated outside. Even Pica remained silent, wondering if the pitch of his voice could carry to the window of the room the master was in; they knew, too.

They knew because when Doffy left the lantern off, someone was bound to be killed if they walked into the room.

In September, a veteran plotted a course for the sea –

Carved a groove in the surf with her hand and refused to look back –

She had much that she feared and a life that she wanted to flee,

And her sister had given her blessing to halt the attack.

Her candles she lit as the sun melted into the Dee,

And around her the salt-water flickered to yellow from black.

In the distance, the glimmer of other ex-soldiers at sea,

But the veteran curled up to sleep ‘round an old haversack.

The next morning would see that young veteran down on one knee,

And the evening would watch her set fire to her teeth, to their plaque.

She would whistle the oboe of Mozart’s concerto in C

And pretend that the waves whispered cello to lessen her lack.

When the sun rose, the veteran warmed up her skin and was free

And was glad that this time, when she left, she had had room to pack.

Then she drew, from her haversack, grapes and pink biscuits and brie,

And she learned how to captain herself; she is finding the knack.

How impossible ending a poem without finding hope.

How like me to, half conscious, scrub down my conclusions with soap.

I am tired.

I am afraid.

I am glad to be alive.

Going to fly to the moon’s face today.

Well, tomorrow.

Going to bring you some silver Moon Clay.

If the moon will still be there at dawn.

Look at her smiling, the Lov-e-lie sun.

The moon starts her pacing - she’ll dance for no one.

Figured I’d write you a poem tonight.

This morning.

This afternoon.

Remind me again, Love, we’re tangible, right?

The moon will be here when we open our eyes.

Going to bring you a gunpowder keg.

Going to wrap up my own severed leg.

Here, Love, I brought you a new little friend!

He doesn’t eat much,

He doesn’t sleep long…

Well listen, you told me to go back to bed

When I told you that something was wrong.

Bruises all over the moon and my faces.

Bruises that drip into all the dark places.

Going to fly to tomorrow today.

Going to smile and ask,

What’s my next task?

I’ll do god knows what please just give me a chance.

Let me stay palpable,

Frangible,

Tangible,