Untitled poem is untitled.

Wrote this on the way back from Sunway, and continued all the way before and after dinner. Turns out that I still have what it takes to write something!

Anyway, before you read this, I just have a few things to say.

I’ve always wanted to write a poem about Okami ever since I started watching the terrific gameplay by Chuggaaconroy on Youtube. I am seriously in love with this game, forever and always. And! I started writing this poem with Okami in mind. I swear I did. That was until I got deviated by another, which made this poem appear to have a double meaning, at least to me. Actually, I’ve incorporated references from the game/story throughout the poem, but I suppose I’m probably the only one who can see it. Fail. So if you happen to think I based it off from somewhere else then hurhur

But if you haven’t heard of Okami (which you really should) that’s alright. Even better actually-feel free to interpret this poem as you see fit!

And as you can see by the lame title, I don’t have a title for this poem. Totally and completely stuck. So, I welcome suggestions of any kind. But I may or may not use your ideas-if I do I will definitely credit you, of course.

Julian, I blame you for this! You should know the extent of your ‘crime’, haha. Long story short-there was a Tumblr page. And the rest is history.

Henceforth, I am not going to lie that the distraction that I encountered while writing came in the form of Loki. In my head, he overwhelmed the Okami idea I had and… well. See what fangirling does to me?? Even though the tumblr page was introduced to me only today while I wrote the poem on Wednesday… well. Doesn’t matter.

But I admit. Loki/Hiddleston is amazing. And I’m quite pleased with how this poem turned out, amidst the Okami/Loki hiccup. WHATEVER.

So, is my poem about Okami, or Loki, really? You be the judge, but I think we all know the answer.

Evidently, I have no shame.

Your eyes of searing flame,
A driving beacon in the gloom,
The spirit of a wolf, none can tame,
Fates of may, interwoven on a loom.

Running with fire and ice,
Your forbidden chanty serenades me,
Like a dancer your strides entice,
Intoning your promise for eternity.

In the dark, I see your reflection,
A shadow of the power you wield,
Discord and mischief honed to perfection,
Behind a smile, knowingly sealed.

Blood and wine, I grant you my heart,
My soul and vessel forevermore,
Your kiss and insignia, never to depart,
A pyre in winter’s unrelenting war.

Entry 1; Apple

The title is yet to be confirmed. But here is a contest entry for a competition I’m applying for in college. Creative Writing in English. I know, right. Art college doing something English. My dad was pleasantly surprised himself. Anyway I welcome comments of any kind, constructive ones would be helpful because it would help me in editing this piece. I’ll definitely write more entries because I’m not entirely happy with this one. The 500 word limit is killing me. D:

Edited: To the 500-word version.

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Apple
What a tease. She loathed the mockery he wore like a pin on his lapel. Though he uttered no words, his wily, saccharine smile reached eagerly for his ears. She knew fully well that he intended to watch her struggle, perhaps subject herself to a humiliating bout of a performance.

“Stop giving me that look,” she remarked loftily, letting the pin fall from her thin fingers. It struck the surface of the table with a faint ping, almost inaudible even in the thick, humid silence.

“I was merely suggesting that I offer you some assistance.” Always the gentleman, the courteous bystander. His innocent look was one skillful performance by a veteran actor. It was almost ironic.

“I do not require aid keeping my hair in order.” she laced her fingers together with the eloquence of a dancer, and leaned back in her chair languidly. The hot weather did nothing to lighten her mood, and it was getting darker by the second. And her inability to keep her locks out of her face was infuriating. She was a woman, for Heaven’s sake! A lady could probably be acknowledged as the one specimen on the planet whose self-hygiene was deemed immaculate. Not her. She was the black sheep; the unblemished apple shunned because of the fear of what could be decaying within.

He proceeded to watch her quietly, his dark eyes scrutinizing. That sharp, penetrating gaze never fails to instil a little agitation in her. It probably gave him some satisfaction.

“Perhaps, I should send for a maid…” he began, enunciating his words clearly as if speaking to a child. He observed her pale knuckles draining of whatever remaining color they balled into suffocating fists. Yet there was an amazing measure of calm etched upon her face like a mask; her anger in her hands did not reach her eyes.

Ire and frustration smothered her, consuming her from within, snapping her thin, remaining lines of patience. Biting her lip to quell the brewing storm, she gripped the desk to steady herself. It was her futile effort to cling onto reality, before the past came to drown her again. She felt the familiar stinging sensation as tears moistened her eyes. Incensed by her exhibition of weakness, she made a move to wipe them away, only to have her own hands drawn away from her face.

He sighed with a smile that has ensnared countless victims, yet his voice still carried its jeering edge.

“To weep is only natural.” He wiped away her tears with a tender hand. “Your life has been nothing but an untouched apple, it’s fragrant flesh singing a song of temptation.”

His hands encircled her waist, wandering up to her bare neck, and entwining themselves in her loose, cascading curls. He leaned in close, his sweet breath of honey and musk emanating her senses as his lips met her ear. His smoldering eyes, imbued with unsaid ardor and famine, an implied confession.

“Enticing enough for me to take a bite.”