Lesser Tales (and Songs) from a Real Life Changeling
Chapter 7: To Be
Previous Chapter Next ChapterPride is for the good, and the glee for those who receive help.
Power is for the honest, and the home is for the family.
Hope is for the dreamer, and the joy for the innocent.
Knowledge is for the curious, and fame for the kind.
Fortune is for the worker, who never stops working.
Life is for the pony, changeling, griffon, diamond dog, zebra, dragon.
Love is for all, the world is its home, and Life is its parent.
We are its slave, for we must love, or we must die.
One must love, even if only a small bit, or a small thing.
If one does not love, one does not live.
If one does not live, one wants life, and hence, loves.
But, mistakes are made, and loving dead cannot live again.
Do love, for without Love, life is gone.
With no Love, but life still persisting, can more life be made, lest they be missing?
Who is this Love, for whom we all are slaves?
To Life, we are children, the still growing kind, who watch and play and dance with Love.
All while Life watches, smiling from above.
However Lost
However lost a pony is, I will help them.
Perhaps you misshear what others say, for challenging goodness is up to them, but was I there when you met them?
And was it my fault for your belief, or that of yours to be so brief?
I see not a house of lies, but one cut by more divides. Do not harm those who wish, for only a simple dream of this.
Not one, not two, not three, but all are at fault, for these lies of me.
I am no mystery to be untangled, but your eyes are foggy and very mangled.
Tell me not who I shall be, for being flawed is what you see.
I am not a fading cardboard cutout of your mind, but a cross section of things behind.
None of us are truly bad, but all have minds to be bettered. And binded to ourselves we always are, for I am not a smudge of tar upon the world to be wiped away. You are lying, but not to me, for you tell yourself that I'm not here to see.
I am alive, awake and sound of mind. I am no wolf to you, but a helpless sheep, nor am I.
We are stuck, amid this world we are a husk, to be carefully cut into a shape, of those pipes they do still make.
I will not be carved away, lest hope and faith of mine be led astray. I will not allow my mind to lay, upon the bed of final day.
We will not submit, not to the endless torrent, nor to those who tell us to die,
I will do what I have always done, in the face of insults, pestering, and exclusion,
I will continue to walk. I will walk with more pride than I ever have, for I am willing to admit when I am in the wrong, and I can see myself for the proud continuation of my legend.
I am a changeling, and here I'll stay.
How Changelings Live
Hello to the poor souls of the lost, the fallen of us, and the tired ones who had suffered to ensure our existence.
Thank you to the nameless ones, who were burned, whipped, starved, all for being different.
Fare well to the old, who had been punished for simply existing as themselves.
Hello to the new, the hatchlings and the foals, the children of the bold, who had lost all for them.
Pardon me for my habits, pardon you for your ways.
Let's get on with this and that. Nowadays
we cannot bicker any longer for who's wrong or right.
But for those who were wronged, let us show the light.
How can you not care? Have you no sense of sight?
Nopony cared for us, but declared, "Creatures of the night!"
I do not hold that sort of regret,
for I am a changeling, and shall not forget
the wrongs and attrocities commited upon
the same peoples to whom you belong.
For get not the answer until the question is known
and cast away history, to go make your own.
Do you not understand the world of hurt
that you did inflict upon those of a different sort?
Challenges placed upon our backs,
that we could not answer, for words we lacked.
But now, a voice I do possess,
and with it I shall make you recall
the good in us that you have lost,
the faults that made you fall.
Cower not before us, oh, lost one,
but take our hands for help,
and let us show you, hope is not gone
all brought upon you by a whelp.
A vile monster I am not,
for I have hope that all will hold
a single strand of perfect gold,
and hand in hand, we will decide,
that all are good on the inside.
And call upon the many of the lost,
to take for us this one last cost,
that you were wrong, and past is past,
for I am a changeling, proud at last.