Difference between revisions of "Transcendent elementalism OR ode to the arcane holoburger"

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(Created page with "By: Irixel Posted on: August 29, 2004 <nowiki>---</nowiki> one minute <nowiki>---</nowiki> one minute until the flames emerge<br> like the Greater Dragons<br> shooting fr...")
 
Line 131: Line 131:
the bartender turns to prepare it,<br>
the bartender turns to prepare it,<br>
and shakes his head.<br>
and shakes his head.<br>
[[Category:Bardic Runner Up]][[Category:2004 Bardics]]

Revision as of 04:14, 26 March 2017

By: Irixel Posted on: August 29, 2004


---

one minute

---

one minute until the flames emerge
like the Greater Dragons
shooting from the sky,
all directions,
guilded by Han-Tolneth and the greatest
dragon of them all; the majestic white.

like a wyvern's
white flame, he leads them,
snaking,
twisting,
whirling
through the sky in formations,
raining down their wrath...

each bite of the burger,
spiced with pleasure and pain,
each bite a testament to the might of
the Holocaust Globe.

---

thirty seconds

---

thirty seconds and
a feeling of dark, pulsing
intensity:
the precursor to fire.

fire from the infernal plant, a union of
the Green Lady, Demeter, and the
sparks of Agatheis;

jalapeno,

muting the earthy wheat
and the crisp water-washed
lettuce in the futile coolness,
failing to soothe me into calm,
failing to quell the warming air
inside my mouth, its temperature elevating,
rising to the red-hot-steaming-burning heats of
a Phaestean forge.

---

explosion

---

a wave
a tremor
a howling rush
each bite into the small seeds
releasing firelashes, scorching,
flaying my flesh, of
the effort of some
overcruel Maldaathi knight to
forge a longsword solely from the heat
of my mouth...

a tongue's forest of tastebuds,
the bitter ginseng,
sweet myrrh,
wild ginger,
coneflower, elm, lobelia,
exterminated,
a holocaust,
blackened and burned,
in pure fire...

---

subside

---

face flushed red
loitering of a patio of hand-carved tiles
bartender eyeing me curiously,
amusedly.

i hear, and he hears,
in this city of the Bards,
a distant Anthem, shifting its protection,
to a protection from fire,

soothing my mind,
a symphonic's light plucking
of a mandolin.

the flames subsided.
sputtered.
died.

and with
the end,
a druid's,
a sylvan's
gift:

rejuvenation.

---

ode

---

i smiled,
and handed the smirking bartender
another 140 gold sovereigns.

(not like the most
potent ginseng could cure
this addiction to the
arcane holoburger.)

the bartender turns to prepare it,
and shakes his head.