The Beehive

by Honey Mead

Rating: everyone
Tags: Random
Length: 775

Wherein I post random writings of questionable quantity and quality.

Wherein I post random writings of questionable quantity and quality.
Celestia: A 204 word sentence.
Luna: A story told in alliteration.
Pinkie Pie: P is a powerful letter.
Canterlot: A 104 word sentence.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-03-04 09:31:44 UTC

Luna

Like a lioness, I lounge and leer at less than likely lodgings,

Lingering leavings leftover from a life long since lost.

Miscellaneous miniatures, minute in make,

Massive in memories of mistakes.

Can collections carry cantankerous cavities?

Caveats of cancerous clues carved carelessly into cranial creases?

Surely not. Surely such simple selections from seasons ceased subsume no sliver of symptoms,

Save small sutures, symbols of a sickness soundly sundered by saviors six.

Perhaps... Yet pain propagates. Persistent pins prick and pry,

Pirouetting and protracting on personal points of past performances,

Piling and procreating, preferring not pleasure predominant.

Hordes of happy happenings are hastily hindered and hidden by hoarded horrors.

How? How hast home been hacked and harried into a hostile house?

What reason roped regal relative to remake ruinous rooms,

Rigorously redundant of remembered wrongs repented recently?

By gangrenous guess or guilty guile, grievances grow guarded not, gaining ground as grouses grind.

Neigh! Note now nothing, not nectar nor nit, nags her nearer nefarious nights!

Forgiveness! Forgiveness furnished freely feeds fraternal fires,

Fusing and forging familial forms from fractured facsimiles.

Verily! Varnished vindications vivify and vitalize, vanquishing villainous veils most vile.

Bah! Bemusement bundles and breaks, bifurcating between bolstering balms and burning bile.

Bested and beaten, brought back better, but beleaguered bit by bit by beastly bygones.

Avast! Answers avert attainment at approaching audible acoustics!

Avoiding all attempts to ascertain amicable achievement of aspirations!

Terrific Tia! Tenable time transforms, turning to torture, tugging at tufts of turbulent, tearful tales untold.

To talk would tread truce, trying trust and turning tiny tantrums into terrible troubles.

Will wily whispers wend away these wicked worries? Wise words would wonders work,

Washing white warts and wounds, whisking away worthless want while winnowing worse wights.

Don't... Don't deny and delay. Detest doesn't decay day-to-day,

It develops, dilating and distending, dooming dictators to disgusting demises.

Do it! Do it! Denounce distasteful dumbness!

Opine openly and offer up odious onus!

...

...

...

Pinkie Pie

I met her, that pony of perpetual prancing pizzazz, plonking from place to place with plates and platters precariously placed upon her proboscis, plying her pleasant pastry past-time with pep, at her palace, her pad, her place of propriety, Sugar Cube Corner, providing as it does plenty of ponies who, perchance a little peckish, partake in proffered provisions, it was there, where Pinkie Pie perches her posterior, that a party of prodigious proportions promised to proceed post-haste, and she, pulling and prodding, prevailed upon me to participate, to prance, to promenade in a particular pattern of paces, and thus my pitiable performance prompted her to pause, pondering my peculiar problem until, at the prompting of a pal, a solution presented as a paced and protracted practice; to wit, she taught me to dance.

Canterlot

Built astride the great spire Canterhorn, a stiletto of stone piercing the heavens themselves, high above the Saddle Plains and east of Cloudsdale, overlooking the whole of the land, is the city of the goddesses, the home of nobility, the center of commerce, fashion, and power, where white marble and gold filigree shine under both moon and sun, where buildings are topped by spires and domes, scaled, tiled, and crowned by vanes of various designs, where balconies abound and streets are cobbled high, with clear, glittering, flowing waterfalls pouring down into frothing lakes hundreds of meters below, is Canterlot, the greatest city in Equestria.

Celestia

Immortal diarch, raiser of the morning sun, that glorious well-spring of all light and life, an eternal reminder to all ponies of their essential unity, their shared heritage, their indivisible future, see her atop her golden thrown, surrounded by stained glass victories, encased in marble walls amid of the proud city of Canterlot, regality given form, noble by definition---defining it---proud in bearing, strong in purpose, unwavering in action, power made manifest, as terrible in wrath as the raging dragon who turns the forests to ash and the plains to glass, as cunning in artifice as the devious spider who lures unwary prey with complex designs of inescapable web, as implacable in course as the flowing glacier that carves the earth and shapes the world over uncountable centuries, eternally patient, infinitely humble, compassion incarnate; beautiful beyond compare, the brightest lilies and roses of white, gleaming alabaster, and freshest snow, all things dim before the purity of her coat, threatening to blind the eyes that linger, her four coloured mane ebbing, flowing, dancing on the wind, while the light of wisdom burns ever brightly behind the violet of her eyes; she is our ruler, our princess, our guiding light, unbent, unbroken, The Unconquered Sun, Princess Celestia.