>Warmth, gracing the entirety.
>Light, giving sight to tired eyes.
>Form, becoming a little pony unicorn.
>Awaken, Onyx.
>Simple words, all weaved together to have a purpose.
>Her mind, heart, and soul speak freely, just as harmony does in all things.
>It’s another morning in Bridlewood.
>A smile draws itself across her lips.
>No matter what may come, today will be another day in her life.
>That remains a constant.
>Stretching a little, the last vestiges of slumber are shaken off.
>She quickly finds a mirror, with her reflection being seen.
>What a mess of a mane, that’s her first thought.
>It’s chaotic, but chaos is natural, so is order, yet both have to be balanced to achieve harmony.
>And right now, her mane must adhere to the philosophy she’s always stuck to.
“Magic twinkles,
Relieve wrinkles;
Unruly mane,
Shatter the chain
Of slumber ties;
Give sight to eyes.”
>Those words are uttered in tandem with the brush strokes she applies to her mane.
>Said brush is held within her magical aura.
>While it seems so effortless, it was not always like that.
>Not too long ago, the very idea of relying on magic was unheard of.
>There was no release for her, or for her fellow unicorns.
>Hope itself seemed like a pipe dream.
>In that deep, dark pit, further yet closer than known, nothingness dwelled.
>Creation among the unicorns staved off that nothingness.
>For her, poetry was that act of creation.
>It held the reigns to guide her, and when shared, it soothed the aches her fellow unicorns had in the days of absent magic.
>Funny word, Magic.
“Once a bad word, now a blessing.
A gift to be given, and done in dressing.
There is hope, don’t keep on guessing.
Because without it, it’s all so depressing.”
>Simple rhymes.
>But, they work wonders.
>Most ponies don’t really get it, with her friend, Dapple, being a sole exception.
>That’s all the more reason for her to practice it frequently.
>Because although to some it is not the most creative endeavor, it is still hers, all the same.
>Once her mane and coat are tended to, she continues the rest of her morning in earnest.
“Some oats to reap.
A word to keep.
Mindful to save.
A light in cave.”
>More rhymes to speak.
>These are not as well-rounded as she’d like.
>Nevertheless, it helps keep her in line.
>There is still the lingering nothingness, waiting out of sight.
>That’s another constant to be aware of at all times.
>From eating, to creating.
>Her quill dances across the page in her open notebook, held aloft in her magic.
>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.

>All of that runs together freely, like the water in the streams.
>Those all eventually empty out into the ocean.
>In turn, they continue the cycle of harmony.
>Like the cycle she follows for her creation.
>These poems will be shared at the end of said cycle.
>Until then, these newborns need more care to grow further.
>While not a matter of perfection, they require a specific /feeling/, so as to ensure they’re right.
>It’s difficult to explain.
>After all, how does a pony explain when they feel something, but can’t put it into words?
>In all honesty, it seems she’s wholly alone in those feelings.
>All the ponies she’s met have not even so much as hinted at possessing them.
>There are no ponies who write like she does.
>In the end, she is herself, Onyx.
>She, and she alone, is the one who does what she does in the land of Equestria.
>A few passing conversations have even mentioned her as an odd unicorn.
>That doesn’t sour her mood, and only serves to remind her of being unique.
>Her thoughts ebb and flow, adding more words onto the pages.
>What’s been added will be looked over, then improved upon tomorrow.
“Write it, so it’s outlined.
Mold it, make it refined.
Give care, make it defined.”
>More rhyming.
>The whole idea of rhyming came about from book she read as a filly.
>That led her to her cutie mark manifesting.
>Even long after that moment in her life, she’s never let a day go by without doing it at least once.
>It lets her think before speaking.
>That gives way to more self-control, with less chaos.
>Unnatural but natural.
>Yet, once again, when balanced correctly, leads to harmony, and in this case, her harmony.
>Altogether, that lets her create more to share with other ponies.
>Soon enough, the workshop session she started comes to an end.
>It’s another day of sharing what she has, and with it, comes the release of aches and pains.
>But when she goes to get the other half of her ensemble…
“Sick?”
>The sole word stands out among the rest on the letter taped to the front door.
>She shakes her head, attempting to deny the welling up from within.
>Without Dapple, it’s harder to express the work she makes.
>The two bounce off of one another easily.
>A good friend to have, and one she’s come to cherish.
>To learn that he’s afflicted with horn flu is… upsetting.
>Her deep pink eyes shut themselves off to the world, with a breath inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.
>Be mindful.
>She turns back to Bridlewood, now better prepared.
>She ventures to the place that acts as her second home.
>Light murmurs roll throughout the atmosphere once inside.
>Ponies living together alongside one another.
>This little space might as well be its own world.

>It’s just that when she comes here she is not alone, nor does she usually perform alone.
>A soft sigh escapes her as she finds a table in the corner to think on.
>This place is more alive today, and much more than in the past.
>Kind of hard to pinpoint when all the new faces showed.
>Back then, before the return of magic, hatred was the capitol shared among ponies, yet never face-to-face out of fear.
>Sorrow was dished out in spades among the unicorns, though.
>Those two emotions were weaved into many poems.
>Most were shared by others.
>Few by Onyx herself.
>As her eyes drift about the room, the past comes to the forefront of her mind.
>It was only unicorns here, once.
>There are pegasus ponies here, and earth ponies, too.
>They’re enjoying themselves.
>All that leads to ideas, feeding the fires of inspiration in her heart.
>A minor reprieve from her own feelings, but a welcome one.
>With that, she pulls out her notebook, adding these new ideas to it.
>A poem here.
>A song there.
>All to bare.
>Not today, though.
>They need to change, like the seasons do.
>Waning and waxing, through and through.
>She goes over what she currently has.
>A hint of music flows through – jazz.
>Like the hints of what could be created on the spot.
>Those can be let go easily, but should be rooted, from time to time.
>Because if rooted, they can be shared with ponies again in the future.
>Letting her gaze drift again, the crowd remains a large, lively one.
>There will have be a change to her plans today.
>Nothing wrong with that.
>She rises from her table, and trots to the bar.
“Hey, Alpha-B.”
>The large, gray unicorn looks up from the cup he was cleaning, “What can I do for you, Onyx?”
“Give me a peppermint tea, please.
>He returns a smile as he nods, “Sure thing.”
>A little aid to have her go a longer way.
>It’s not much, but it keeps things at bay.
>“Here you go.”
>The minty smell wafts upwards, igniting her senses into a blaze.
“Thanks for the tea, Alpha-B.”
>She takes the drink with her as she returns back to her table.
>In that space, although alone, her mind rolls over what she intends to do.
>It’s a challenge, especially when in this state, like being pressed upon from all sides, yet unable to act out against it.
>There are expectations.
>Those have to be fulfilled.
>But working alone can be managed.
>Shows can adapt.
>Changes can be welcome.
>And worrying about what is not in her control will do no good whatsoever.
“Keep vile thoughts at bay,
Hold onto the light.
It’s another day
To become a sight
For ponies to see
The art created
That may set them free
From a life weighted.”
>She finishes her tea, then goes to the stage.
>Some patrons take notice, while the rest stick to their little cliques.

>Despite taking a small amount of space, and is against the wall, it’s like it’s the stage is the entire room.
>The microphone itself might as well be the beacon in the darkness; awaiting her command to draw all eyes and ears from everypony.
>When it turns on, so too, does the attention of everypony fall to her.
>Showtime.
“Little ponies, all gathered together.
They've got some pony to balance them out.
There's no feeling blue, or needing to shout;
It's harmony acting as a tether.

Those binds keep them safe in any weather;
Never fearing, in spite of hidden doubt,
Because even if there is a long drought,
Rain will come, and they'll float on a feather.

Yet some ponies find loneliness inside,
Cursing their light, blinding their starstruck eyes,
So they'll fall into themselves so hollow;
Fellow ponies, don't let such things abide,
It's cruel to let them suffer in lies;
Raise up the lonely, lead, and they'll follow.”
>There’s a brief pause, followed by the light clopping of applause.
>It was something new, shared alone.
>The crowd doesn’t know that.
>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.
>And since the pegasi and earth ponies have come, they’re starting to learn, too.
>Her magic twinkles softly as she shifts her attention.
>The black case by her hooves is opened with a light click.
>Within it, her saxophone is withdrawn, held in her magical aura.
>Its brown strap is slung over her withers, then the flow of magic is cut.
>The weighty instrument feels heavier than usual.
>A lot of things are heavier today.
>That’s fine, she can handle it.
>What she’ll play will express plenty.
>The mouthpiece connects with her lips as her eyes close shut.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHFGTnNryFk
>The tune rings out, and although she can’t see them, all the ponies are looking and listening.
>They feel what she feels.
>Nothing needs to be said.
>Poetry speaks plenty, so does the music do, too.
>Together, they are stronger than being alone.
>There’s warmth, gracing the entirety.
>There’s light, grating sight to tired eyes.
>There’s form, becoming little ponies.
>Please, awaken.
>Hear what Onyx is saying without speaking in words.
>That although it’s seemingly so dreary.
>With this song clearly not at all cheery.
>They'll find a light – no matter how small – there.
>Just listen close, and understand this mare.
>That while it may seem she's full of despair.
>That darkness will pass, she promises to swear.