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To Love, Hiroshi, and Faith.
May we all some day find our Truth and be complete.
Shades of Gray
A poem by Shimitsu Kaoru
Mine Vision bestowed with black and white,
Mine Heart indulged in thus cruel world's stage.
Eyes unseeing judge twixt wrong and right,
Soul thus imbued polarities rage.
Thine eyes do see thus how twisted formed
That 'Truth' wherein no exception hides,
Share not the furies mankind has worn...
See truth with thine blessed inward eyes.
This, thy stage, unjustly given life
Thy soul weighed with rules and thus condemned.
Taught proudly yin and yang's bitter strife...
Never name thy passion thus a friend.
A world whence monotony didst thrive
Did bare you proudly up with open arms.
Shun the views of healthy, proper lives...
And then embrace the truth's blessed charms.
This sphere doth not run on left or right
Nor are there lines which cut thine soul in two.
Good and Evil vary in degrees,
Single sin does not to hell accrue.
Tis' not black ink writ on ghostly page
Tis' grande plethora of unique days.
Recall thy world's damned imbued rage,
For your life is marked in Shades of Gray.
Fragile Clay: Volume the Third
(Shades of Grey)
"Refractions of the Past"
Rain. A flash. A rolling sound that shakes the roofs of those below. The sky quilted with dark gray clouds, lightning flashing every few moments.
Beneath the rain. A small town, the rain cascading gently, falling in sheets upon the multitudinous roofs of the people inhabiting tiny houses below the clouds.
There is laughing within some of the houses. There is singing, and some are already fast asleep, escaping to a world of their own making. A world in many ways better than our own.
The icy rain outside frigid and unyielding in its relentless attack, thousands upon thousands of tiny silver javelins striking the earth, the trees.
Nerima. A place of excitement, adventure, the very word brings to mind wandering warriors, prideful samurai, and skilled Amazons. Yet all is quiet, as it has mostly been for many months now. Behind closed doors people have begun to wonder.
Where has all the magic gone? The adventure? It was once common to see a mob chasing a shriveled pervert with a dull brown satchel slung over his shoulders, the sun beating down upon the city mercilessly as martial artists demolished buildings with inhuman ease.
A week of rain. A week, and no sign of cease. Truly, in fact, it has escalated. An inch of the wet substance coated the roads; lawns were drowned out and muddy red.
Rain. A flash. The accompanied sound of thunder vibrates the roofs once more. Tea, steaming hot.
Thunder shakes the walls of the Tendou dojo, the sound of water cascading off the roof and smattering against the muddy ground, water logged trees bend and shake in the wind, droplets clinging to their leaves.
The world's colors dull, darkening in the wake of the storm. Almost black clouds boil overhead, shifting and mixing.
Rain. A flash. Two delicate hands lift the teacup, the misty steam rising from the calm brown swirling liquid as the edge of the round porcelain cup is raised, gently caressing to full red lips.
The streets are soaked, a car on the curbside, left abandoned in the downpour. Lightning flashes again, the thick layer of water on the street reflecting the light, making the road seem to glow for a brief instant.
She sniffs the tea, taking in its heady aroma. A part of her sighs within as she carefully sips it. Its warmth does not touch her soul. The others sit quietly, some watch her with great scrutiny.
Ranma's eyes stare deeply into her tea.