The Hope of PariahHe stroked her hair,
Leading the maid into his lair.
Whence he neither slept nor dreamt;
A humble abode of choice contempt.
Amidst salient Minotaur heads, inside lay'st he;
" Cometh away beside me." Say'st he;
Of Herculean contrive, the man bore fright,
For he resembled a Juggernaut's spite!
" What genteel beseech " Thought she;
The lady, but a mere commoner is she;
Such love, she felt of his voice;
Like honey, spewed from the lips of vice.
" But I must return to my kin!
Thou art naught to be seen!
Thine soul liknen the languish of a lamb,
Yet thine report is but a vile sham!"
" Cometh away beside me.
For I am wretch'd and in need.
Thou my chosen, thine soul of Grace;
Thou, prithee! Beside me, thine place!"
The maiden fled her suitor's hand;
Couldst naught eat, neither drink nor stand;
She lay with illness, heart most stricken;
" I must seek him!" She spake unto Heuen.
'Tis been so long since she fled;
Now of grey hair, she faltered to the
My Psychological Synopsis On Loki(A big thank you to baronessofblades for encouraging me to write this.)
Now, I have read a number of Hiddleston's interviews and a few articles on the analysis of Loki. And here are four of them that I could mostly agree with:
Tom Hiddleston Takes Us Inside The Complicated Mind of Loki
Tom Hiddleston Explains The Psychology Of Loki
Tom Hiddleston Talks The Madness of Loki, His Hope For Redemption In Thor 2
A Late Morning's DreamI was found flawless, on a high-rised rosy bed, made entirely of large, crystal staves. The "beds" were vast in numbers. A domain of haunt. There were beasts, as saccharine as the structures. In a slow-mo pace, they were my sleeping hunters. And I am the hunted. Their sole prey.
These freaks, as though they were formed by the very hands of Giger, leapt from bed to bed, some fell, slashed and shredded to their end. One selectively finished its race.
My necrosis had eluded every stake and was now ready to be crowned. However, its mass was just as lithe Instinctively, I lifted the monster with both hands and flung it effortlessly over my edge. Yet this being, was reborn
By fluke they fell to oblivion. But by my hand, shall they be reformed? A fresh head thrived from its first gash as it dangled, mid-air. This new face, new head, new set of fangs much like the mouth of a leech, elongation of its neck t'ward me, line of flight t'ward its mark. Leaving its body wher
The TapestryGrimly hung behind an oaken door
Boasting of rich, Elven lore
There once was an old Tapestry
Woven with histories
Of an unsung Century
Willful of its existing duty
This dandled silken scripting
Wore a dusty grimace
Swearing at each rasp
For its present calamity
Albeit its grumpy nature
Sitting right across the chamber
Our Tapisserie's Compadre
A vandalized, white-washed Mirror
Rejected for reflecting verity
Now our cavalier Mural
How it loved this artless Gaper
For the Mirror, it showed past valor
Precise heroism, like a silent replay
Reflection of the ancient Drapery
They had days that were hustling
For their prison was a queer, little treasury
Where strange beings came about, scuttling
Searching high and low for demanded curiosities
Oft' leaving the chamber with a clash so deafening
Then came a night of much darkness
To the nomadic Adornment's fright
Into the lonesome chamber did arrive
The most cherubic little blue-eyed tyke
Worming 'round with mischief and spite
The SentientEncompassing whirlpools of lust,
He swam thro' bludgeoning waves;
Crashing foams of rambling darkness,
Waddling amidst an oceanless enclave.
This fool stretched forth his hand,
Expectant of a lucid manifestation;
But indeed, he became quicksand;
Orbiting dirt, his will fell sullen.
All power then obeyed a halt;
Entirety froze, lingered in lost space;
A lamb came, bathed in wine and salt,
And walked toward the particulate face.
Licking up e'ry tiny grist of the fool,
It took him into its most tender belly;
Whence the man heard its mewl,
A cry to eat of its sprightly body;
Now the man was old and ravenous;
He ran a weaving race of secular quiddit,
For he yearned of sublunary past;
Yet naught a morsel was he fed without a fit.
So eat of the lamb, he didst;
E'ry bite met him at wisdom's chamber;
" Like consuming marriage!", felt he;
And he ate, he ate 'til what left was its head.
With each taste,
The man fell deeply in love;
No longer canst he bear to take,
Killing JokeThe walls of my roost, they sigh;
For awake and prowling within,
A purpure silhouette writhes;
Hoarsely, he beckons me to begin;
" Be gone." Me thinks aloud;
Yet, an exemplar of glory is he!
Such exquisite chaos, endowed;
Manners of dementia sold comely;
" You complete me."
Hastily, he stems blaring a glare;
Books, pens, dust rattled off the desk;
His stance culled of a nightmare,
Now looms he, droning my neck;
Seated I, eyeballing the screen;
Naught a twitch for an itch,
As leathery hands locked keen,
He acquaints me own hands to script;
A fool I felt, a Puppeteer's aid;
'Tis then he bent, tongue in me ear,
Grains of a chalky mask fade,
Abandoned his visage with a sere;
His tale enraged of muted irony,
Etched for keeps, a laugh so rubious;
I withered, as his lips rasped cruelly-
" Why so serious?"