Twilight gets stung by a bee (and other short stories)

by GrouchoMarxDisciple

The Death of the Manticore (poem)

--the cub--
Darkness.
A light was promised here.
Silence.
It's cold, when death is near.
Yellow.
Her wing, it holds me close.
Soft.
The pony I love the most.
Still.
We lay here in the black.
Gone.
Never to come back.
Life.
A small, fleeting thing.
Death.
It's the final, ageless ring.

--the core--
Though the world crashes in,
an otherworldly peace,
fills my senses, soul and mind,
and all my fears do cease.
The sickness that once racked my bones,
is naught more than a dream.
And once I feel the shaking end,
no more do I scream.

Author's Note:

To kill writer's bloc.

It's pretty terribad, but here you go.