Our screaming voices are not heard,
Lost in the void, without a word.
Echoes bouncing off the walls,
Invisible to one and all.
Our hearts cry out in desperation,
But the world's too loud, a deafening sensation.
The silence deafens, numbs the soul,
Leaves us feeling incomplete, not whole.
Yet still we scream, and still we try,
To make our voices reach the sky.
For though they may fall on deaf ears,
Our passion and resolve will not disappear.
We'll keep on screaming, keep on fighting,
For what we know is true and righting.
And though the world may not hear us now,
Someday our screams will make them bow.
Our screaming voices are not heard,
But still we raise them, every word.
We shout our truths into the night,
And hope that someday, they'll take flight.
For though the world may seem so still,
The fire in our hearts burns still.
It fuels our passions, drives us on,
To never rest until it's won.
Our screaming voices echo true,
A call to action, to all who knew
That silence is a deadly thing,
A blight upon our very being.
So let us shout, and let us scream,
Until our voices pierce the dream.
Until the world can hear our call,
And answers back, to one and all.
The king in yellow, our hanged king,
A tragic figure, a mournful thing.
His throne, a noose, his crown, a rope,
His reign, a horror, a world of dope.
His people once did him adore,
But now they see his true implore.
The yellow king, a symbol of dread,
A warning to all, a sign of the dead.
They say he spoke of twisted dreams,
Of alien worlds and horrid schemes.
His words, a poison, they say it brings,
Madness and death, such fearful things.
The king in yellow, our hanged king,
His story echoes, and still does sing.
A tale of woe, a cautionary tale,
Of the price of power, a deadly gale.
And so we gaze upon his throne,
His dangling form, his deathly moan.
And we remember, with a solemn ring,
The king in yellow, our hanged king.
The scarlet king, his 7 brides,
Their love a thing of bloody tides.
Each one a queen, a beauty fair,
But with a heart consumed by fear.
Broken chains, damned preside,
The king's power, impossible to hide.
His rule, a terror, a grip so tight,
The people tremble, pray for light.
A creature born from ash and dust,
The king's heir, his legacy a must.
Born of fire, born of pain,
The creature's power, not in vain.
A king fell by deadly lust,
His reign, a thing of ash and rust.
His crown, a symbol of his pride,
Now a relic, a thing to hide.
The scarlet king, his 7 brides,
Their love, a thing of tragic lies.
Their story echoes through the land,
A tale of power, love, and damnation's hand.
In the realm of books and tales untold,
The Wanderer's Library stood so bold.
A sanctuary for all beings of the multiverse,
A place where knowledge flowed in endless verse.
But alas, a great tragedy befell,
A searing flame, a fiery hell.
The library burned with fierce might,
Consuming books, devouring sight.
The shelves, once lined with tomes so rare,
Now empty, bare, and stripped of care.
All beings wept, their hearts so sore,
For the loss of knowledge they adored.
The silence, deafening, echoed loud,
As flames consumed the hallowed ground.
The humans, the faeries, the eldritch beasts,
All united in mourning their beloved feast.
Yet still, a glimmer of hope remained,
A beacon of light, a hope unstained.
The beings vowed to rise again,
To rebuild, restore, and begin anew.
For though the fire had left its mark,
It could not extinguish the eternal spark,
Of the multiversal spirit, resilient and strong,
That keeps the flames of knowledge burning on.
So let us remember the Great Searing,
A loss that shook the multiverse with its fierce roaring.
But let us also remember the hope it brought,
The strength and courage that it wrought.
For in the ashes of the old,
Lies the seed of the new and bold,
And the beings will rise once more,
To keep the flame of knowledge at its core.
For from ashes I was made,
A spark of life, a soul unswayed.
The fire, fierce, consumed and burned,
And from its embers, I emerged.
I rose anew, a phoenix born,
From ash and dust, a new form.
My spirit strong, my will unbroken,
For from ashes, I was awoken.
And yet, I know my fate,
To ashes, I shall return in state.
The cycle of life, death, and rebirth,
A constant reminder of the earth.
But until that time, I shall strive,
To live each day, to stay alive.
To make my mark, to leave my trace,
And to bring beauty to this place.
For from ashes, we are all made,
And to ashes, we shall all fade.
But in between, we have this chance,
To live, to love, to dance.
So let us embrace this gift of life,
And overcome the struggles and strife.
For from ashes, we were all born,
And to ashes, we shall all return.
In the land of infinite knowledge,
Where wisdom flows like a river's edge,
Stood a library of ancient age,
With books and tales from every page.
The Wanderer's Library, it was named,
A place where magic and mystery were claimed,
A haven for those seeking truth,
A sanctuary for the eternal youth.
But one fateful day, the library burned,
The flames of destruction fiercely churned,
A group unknown sought a single tome,
And in their quest, they destroyed our home.
Billions perished in the Great Searing,
Their knowledge and stories disappearing,
The ancient serpent who built the place,
Was too devastated to even pace.
A new library was built in its stead,
But the memories of the past still spread,
A call to never forget the tragedy,
To honor those lost in their majesty.
Let us remember the souls who perished,
Their stories and wisdom forever cherished,
And vow to protect the knowledge we hold,
For it is a treasure more valuable than gold.
In ages past, a great calamity befell
The Wanderer's Library, its glory to quell
A force of darkness, a power untold
Sought to end the knowledge that it could hold
The librarians fought with all their might
To save the books, to keep them from the night
But the darkness was too strong, its grip too tight
And one by one, the books fell from sight
The shelves were shattered, the floors torn apart
The walls crumbled, the roof lost its heart
The darkness consumed all, the light could not start
And the library was destroyed, torn apart
But though the physical form was gone
The knowledge within could still live on
For even though the building had been undone
The ideas and stories had not yet run
So those who knew of the library's might
Took up the torch, and continued the fight
To keep the knowledge alive, to keep it in sight
And honor the memory of the library's light
