//------------------------------//
// Another Face 
// Story: Tear the Sky Asunder 
// by Ice Star 
//------------------------------//


stir not,
for pegasi walk the sky
and the only sight that brings those winged brutes pleasure
is to watch members of the fairest tribe writhe in agony 'fore they fall over and die

see not,
a single shape, up there in the daily storm that even they can barely master
if you hear the clink of metal and feathers rustle, run faster

linger not,
for magic-drained legs can barely move and to warn of their planned invasion you must run far
only then do you realize there is no shelter that can keep you safe in the game of many tyrants,
even innocent souls find themselves bathed in feathers in tar

fear not,
as the brigade comes flying, the movements of the armor-clad pegasi are far from tame
somewhere in time — future or past, this poem knows not — ponies are told to love both their enemy and neighbor, not knowing they are the same



...



stir not,
for in the sky-dwelling tribe's charity as they storm through unicorn-laden streets drained of magic and filled with strife
their wing-blades prove to be quick and brutal as they are so generous in their quest for wealth to relieve you of your life

wait not,
for thunder always comes before the lightning
and in the ruined streets stands a creature tall, red and black that even your winged slayer finds to be frightening

hear not,
for you have perished and no wings have ever adorned your back
yet you cannot even see the sweet vengeance of your flight-leeched foe's form go slack

count not,
for even though you are not among the ranks it takes little time to see
that each pegasus stallion, mare, and foal is here to plunder, their expressions twisted in hollow copies of barbaric glee

empathize not,
for the sole reason of they were not like you in life, nor will they be in death as Tirek stands unbroken above
each and every limp form
younger brother Scorpan follows close behind, his face his expressionless as he surveys the scene, although his face betrays something of love

love not,
for you are a pony, dead or alive
you were but another meant to obey every word spoken by whoever was groomed to be the crown's oh-so willing victim
you are starved, unremarkable, everyday, ignorant, un-dreaming, perfectly prejudiced, and without even batting an eye—
easily declared as replaceable now that you lie cold and — as expected — forgotten
Tirek is filled with even more power and a deepened tyrannical drive

care not,
for you have never dreamed, questioned, or made yourself you in the life you never lived
your role was non-existent and might as well already be filled
so we move on from meaningless you to troubled Scorpan who stares at those who have been killed

doubt not,
is what ponies would say, least of all your tribe
no matter the pony's race they repeat the same thing as one mind put into different skin
when out of all around him the only one Scorpan should question is his very own kin