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What is glistening
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What is glistening
#1
I have waited so long for it to be revealed to me




Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds,—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved—still warm—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?
[Image: 62675bf4fd.jpg] [Image: 0e7357dcfe.jpg]
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#2
L̶o̶o̶k̶ ̶u̶p̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶k̶y̶ ̶t̶o̶n̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶.̶

Oh wait, you're an Aussie.
[Image: anim_500.gif]
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#3
I come back to this forum and I see that.

PM me and I'll tell you the entire story because I had a front row seat to that hell. I'd post it here, but, fair warning, it isn't SFW.

(sorry for the necro whoops)
˜★Sketch Blog
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#4
Holy shit, Maulbane you still active here bro?
Life is full of thing that nobody notices until it's truly gone.

[Image: 8.jpg]
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#5
I am a ghost and therefore I float about




Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds,—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved—still warm—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?
[Image: 62675bf4fd.jpg] [Image: 0e7357dcfe.jpg]
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#6
(02-17-2020, 06:37 AM)Maulbane Wrote: I am a ghost and therefore I float about

m8 what are you on about?
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#7
(05-16-2020, 04:26 AM)Jason Wrote:
(02-17-2020, 06:37 AM)Maulbane Wrote: I am a ghost and therefore I float about

m8 what are you on about?

I am the ghost of the Conquest of the Horde forums! OooOooO




Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds,—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved—still warm—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?
[Image: 62675bf4fd.jpg] [Image: 0e7357dcfe.jpg]
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Reply




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