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>Warmth, gracing the entirety.
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>Light, giving sight to tired eyes.
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>Form, becoming a little pony unicorn.
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>Awaken, Onyx.
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>Simple words, all weaved together to have a purpose.
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>Her mind, heart, and soul speak freely, just as harmony does in all things.
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>It’s another morning in Bridlewood.
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>A smile draws itself across her lips.
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>No matter what may come, today will be another day in her life.
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>That remains a constant.
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>Stretching a little, the last vestiges of slumber are shaken off.
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>She quickly finds a mirror, with her reflection being seen.
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>What a mess of a mane, that’s her first thought.
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>It’s chaotic, but chaos is natural, so is order, yet both have to be balanced to achieve harmony.
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>And right now, her mane must adhere to the philosophy she’s always stuck to.
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“Magic twinkles,
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Relieve wrinkles;
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Unruly mane,
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Shatter the chain
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Of slumber ties;
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Give sight to eyes.”
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>Those words are uttered in tandem with the brush strokes she applies to her mane.
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>Said brush is held within her magical aura.
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>While it seems so effortless, it was not always like that.
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>Not too long ago, the very idea of relying on magic was unheard of.
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>There was no release for her, or for her fellow unicorns.
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>Hope itself seemed like a pipe dream.
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>In that deep, dark pit, further yet closer than known, nothingness dwelled.
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>Creation among the unicorns staved off that nothingness.
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>For her, poetry was that act of creation.
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>It held the reigns to guide her, and when shared, it soothed the aches her fellow unicorns had in the days of absent magic.
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>Funny word, Magic.
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“Once a bad word, now a blessing.
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A gift to be given, and done in dressing.
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There is hope, don’t keep on guessing.
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Because without it, it’s all so depressing.”
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>Simple rhymes.
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>But, they work wonders.
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>Most ponies don’t really get it, with her friend, Dapple, being a sole exception.
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>That’s all the more reason for her to practice it frequently.
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>Because although to some it is not the most creative endeavor, it is still hers, all the same.
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>Once her mane and coat are tended to, she continues the rest of her morning in earnest.
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“Some oats to reap.
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A word to keep.
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Mindful to save.
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A light in cave.”
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>More rhymes to speak.
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>These are not as well-rounded as she’d like.
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>Nevertheless, it helps keep her in line.
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>There is still the lingering nothingness, waiting out of sight.
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>That’s another constant to be aware of at all times.
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>From eating, to creating.
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>Her quill dances across the page in her open notebook, held aloft in her magic.
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>Words are guided forth from her mind, ferried along her heart, and flown from her soul; never restrained by an inner critic of any kind.
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>All of that runs together freely, like the water in the streams.
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>Those all eventually empty out into the ocean.
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>In turn, they continue the cycle of harmony.
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>Like the cycle she follows for her creation.
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>These poems will be shared at the end of said cycle.
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>Until then, these newborns need more care to grow further.
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>While not a matter of perfection, they require a specific /feeling/, so as to ensure they’re right.
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>It’s difficult to explain.
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>After all, how does a pony explain when they feel something, but can’t put it into words?
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>In all honesty, it seems she’s wholly alone in those feelings.
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>All the ponies she’s met have not even so much as hinted at possessing them.
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>There are no ponies who write like she does.
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>In the end, she is herself, Onyx.
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>She, and she alone, is the one who does what she does in the land of Equestria.
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>A few passing conversations have even mentioned her as an odd unicorn.
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>That doesn’t sour her mood, and only serves to remind her of being unique.
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>Her thoughts ebb and flow, adding more words onto the pages.
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>What’s been added will be looked over, then improved upon tomorrow.
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“Write it, so it’s outlined.
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Mold it, make it refined.
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Give care, make it defined.”
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>More rhyming.
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>The whole idea of rhyming came about from book she read as a filly.
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>That led her to her cutie mark manifesting.
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>Even long after that moment in her life, she’s never let a day go by without doing it at least once.
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>It lets her think before speaking.
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>That gives way to more self-control, with less chaos.
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>Unnatural but natural.
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>Yet, once again, when balanced correctly, leads to harmony, and in this case, her harmony.
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>Altogether, that lets her create more to share with other ponies.
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>Soon enough, the workshop session she started comes to an end.
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>It’s another day of sharing what she has, and with it, comes the release of aches and pains.
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>But when she goes to get the other half of her ensemble…
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“Sick?”
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>The sole word stands out among the rest on the letter taped to the front door.
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>She shakes her head, attempting to deny the welling up from within.
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>Without Dapple, it’s harder to express the work she makes.
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>The two bounce off of one another easily.
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>A good friend to have, and one she’s come to cherish.
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>To learn that he’s afflicted with horn flu is… upsetting.
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>Her deep pink eyes shut themselves off to the world, with a breath inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.
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>Be mindful.
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>She turns back to Bridlewood, now better prepared.
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>She ventures to the place that acts as her second home.
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>Light murmurs roll throughout the atmosphere once inside.
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>Ponies living together alongside one another.
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>This little space might as well be its own world.
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>It’s just that when she comes here she is not alone, nor does she usually perform alone.
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>A soft sigh escapes her as she finds a table in the corner to think on.
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>This place is more alive today, and much more than in the past.
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>Kind of hard to pinpoint when all the new faces showed.
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>Back then, before the return of magic, hatred was the capitol shared among ponies, yet never face-to-face out of fear.
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>Sorrow was dished out in spades among the unicorns, though.
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>Those two emotions were weaved into many poems.
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>Most were shared by others.
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>Few by Onyx herself.
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>As her eyes drift about the room, the past comes to the forefront of her mind.
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>It was only unicorns here, once.
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>There are pegasus ponies here, and earth ponies, too.
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>They’re enjoying themselves.
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>All that leads to ideas, feeding the fires of inspiration in her heart.
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>A minor reprieve from her own feelings, but a welcome one.
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>With that, she pulls out her notebook, adding these new ideas to it.
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>A poem here.
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>A song there.
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>All to bare.
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>Not today, though.
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>They need to change, like the seasons do.
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>Waning and waxing, through and through.
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>She goes over what she currently has.
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>A hint of music flows through – jazz.
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>Like the hints of what could be created on the spot.
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>Those can be let go easily, but should be rooted, from time to time.
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>Because if rooted, they can be shared with ponies again in the future.
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>Letting her gaze drift again, the crowd remains a large, lively one.
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>There will have be a change to her plans today.
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>Nothing wrong with that.
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>She rises from her table, and trots to the bar.
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“Hey, Alpha-B.”
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>The large, gray unicorn looks up from the cup he was cleaning, “What can I do for you, Onyx?”
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“Give me a peppermint tea, please.
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>He returns a smile as he nods, “Sure thing.”
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>A little aid to have her go a longer way.
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>It’s not much, but it keeps things at bay.
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>“Here you go.”
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>The minty smell wafts upwards, igniting her senses into a blaze.
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“Thanks for the tea, Alpha-B.”
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>She takes the drink with her as she returns back to her table.
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>In that space, although alone, her mind rolls over what she intends to do.
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>It’s a challenge, especially when in this state, like being pressed upon from all sides, yet unable to act out against it.
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>There are expectations.
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>Those have to be fulfilled.
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>But working alone can be managed.
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>Shows can adapt.
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>Changes can be welcome.
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>And worrying about what is not in her control will do no good whatsoever.
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“Keep vile thoughts at bay,
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Hold onto the light.
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It’s another day
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To become a sight
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For ponies to see
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The art created
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That may set them free
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From a life weighted.”
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>She finishes her tea, then goes to the stage.
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>Some patrons take notice, while the rest stick to their little cliques.
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>Despite taking a small amount of space, and is against the wall, it’s like it’s the stage is the entire room.
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>The microphone itself might as well be the beacon in the darkness; awaiting her command to draw all eyes and ears from everypony.
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>When it turns on, so too, does the attention of everypony fall to her.
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>Showtime.
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“Little ponies, all gathered together.
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They've got some pony to balance them out.
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There's no feeling blue, or needing to shout;
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It's harmony acting as a tether.
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Those binds keep them safe in any weather;
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Never fearing, in spite of hidden doubt,
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Because even if there is a long drought,
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Rain will come, and they'll float on a feather.
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Yet some ponies find loneliness inside,
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Cursing their light, blinding their starstruck eyes,
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So they'll fall into themselves so hollow;
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Fellow ponies, don't let such things abide,
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It's cruel to let them suffer in lies;
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Raise up the lonely, lead, and they'll follow.”
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>There’s a brief pause, followed by the light clopping of applause.
-
>It was something new, shared alone.
-
>The crowd doesn’t know that.
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>They don’t need to, though.
-
>Because even if her poetry is not the greatest, it works for what little it can do.
-
>The unicorns of Bridlewood know that.
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>And since the pegasi and earth ponies have come, they’re starting to learn, too.
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>Her magic twinkles softly as she shifts her attention.
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>The black case by her hooves is opened with a light click.
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>Within it, her saxophone is withdrawn, held in her magical aura.
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>Its brown strap is slung over her withers, then the flow of magic is cut.
-
>The weighty instrument feels heavier than usual.
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>A lot of things are heavier today.
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>That’s fine, she can handle it.
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>What she’ll play will express plenty.
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>The mouthpiece connects with her lips as her eyes close shut.
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>The tune rings out, and although she can’t see them, all the ponies are looking and listening.
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>They feel what she feels.
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>Nothing needs to be said.
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>Poetry speaks plenty, so does the music do, too.
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>Together, they are stronger than being alone.
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>There’s warmth, gracing the entirety.
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>There’s light, grating sight to tired eyes.
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>There’s form, becoming little ponies.
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>Please, awaken.
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>Hear what Onyx is saying without speaking in words.
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>That although it’s seemingly so dreary.
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>With this song clearly not at all cheery.
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>They'll find a light – no matter how small – there.
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>Just listen close, and understand this mare.
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>That while it may seem she's full of despair.
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>That darkness will pass, she promises to swear.
by NHanon
by NHanon
by NHanon
by NHanon
by NHanon