Propaganda
Quilin
BY MORGAN NASR
Brilliant blazing stars waver in the wind, As the long grasses of the meadow whisper with each gentle breath – Drawing the tide in and out across the plateau’s breadth. The slight scent of soot lingers, and with the freshness does it blend, Infecting every mote of air, and With no mercy does it ensnare The living spirit – mutilated, rendered blind. Knee deep amongst the waves She takes heed to pseudo sounds of silence, Allowing the rippling air to give her guidance Towards the battle that she must brave. A war that is almost impossible to be won – For the minds of the perverted are twisted and spun Into gnarled clods of idiocy, immune to being saved. She turned her back to the grassy sea, And directed her gaze towards her luscious wood. Edged with stumps where trees once stood: A forest graveyard outlining the boundaries of the lea. Her Savage beauty tinged with shame For the idiot race, that to her forest, maimed. But soon she knows, that all will pay the ultimate fee. She wades through the grassy plain Towards her beauteous and fertile home. Which, slowly begins to resemble a floral catacomb. The Kodama, a fantastic race, that with the forest wanes, (For they are a symbol of its health) Greet her in all their wealth, Their Princess, their protector from all that banes.
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