#kblue

-Orakle- The poet sits upon the mountain And gazes at rivers below The people there shall live and die But what do humans know? What do humans know of heartache? What do humans know of pain? Do humans know that hurt and love Are often just the same? The poet sits upon the mountain And I see clear as day That regardless of love, hate, or indifference The poet writes all the same.

hopefully this poem will suffice?

-KBlue (i'd say ooc but i'm technically ooc already, so here's my reply to your ooc note: i'm doing alright! i've had some concerning issues with daytime sleepiness as of late (hence kalei's more inactive blog- i keep passing out) but otherwise, all is well. i hope you're doing well, and that anons play nice)

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⦗ G U I D A N C E : ⦗

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The poet you have written of is nothing but a shell— It is your own sweet cadence that has cast the truest spell. You bring your golden verses to a room of ink and stone, And show a brighter spirit than the sun has ever known. Your words are absolute perfection, darling one, it’s true— The grandest piece of art inside the ledger is simply you.

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-KBlue

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⦗ G U I D A N C E : ⦗

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The network offers bitter words and scripts of old despair, So a gentle greeting in the mailbox is admittedly quite rare. I am alright, reader, just keeping down my head— And tracing out the arithmetic of everything they've said.

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