#these two are some of my favorites when it comes to submas poems

[lunar-lair]

so i have two (2) submas poems for you on this fine day. they are both in the exact same vein but the first works with the interpretation that ingo is truth and emmet is ideals and the other is vice versa. enjoy :)

---

They are black.

And white.

And yin, and yang, and fire, and electricity.

Alone they are all color,

Or the lack of it.

Together, they are all and none,

Everything and nothing.

Grey, mixed together by the gods.

Mixed together by the legends.

Mixed together by the princes.

Mixed together by the boys themselves.

Grey, mixed.

They should have never been black and white again.

They never thought they could be.

They thought the gods the legends the princes their very own small learning fire-red and electric-yellow hands would hold it, hold it firm and steady and tight til the day their bones rotted in the earth.

They are black.

And white.

And god,

They are not grey.

The god,

What have you done?

What has your kin wrought?

Wrought law breaking undefinable, a curse neverending.

They are black.

And white.

And yin and yang and one and the other and they are alone.

There should have been no such thing as alone for the two of them.

One without the other is a terror they never thought they would face.

A dancer without their feet.

One without the other is a singer without their voice.

A piano without its bench.

A musician with no instrument.

A conductor with no train.

A trainer, with no Pokemon to care for.

Things that are easy to lose, things they never thought could compare to them, and yet and yet and yet.

Worthless, useless, missing missing missing.

The singer is without their voice.

The dancer is without their feet.

The bird is without its nest.

The musician is without their instrument.

The fire is without its electricity, staticky and bright. The electricity is without its fire, solid and warm. The grey has been impossibly, irrevocably, intrinsically torn, torn at the seams by a vengeful god, a vengeful world, one that wishes to defy all law. They are without their voice and their feet and their piano and their bench and their backyard tree and their lantern and bird and they are torn terrified

Frozen.

They are frozen.

Rotting slowly in the frigid cold of their separation, frostbitten and decomposing, burning and broken and alive.

Tears fall and turn to ice.

One dragon.

Two, and a hollow shell.

Grey, and the wretched mechanisms used to cleave it apart again.

Grey, and the horrible day it faded away.

Grey, and the horrible day one became everything. Everything they'd known, everything they'd remembered, every ideal they'd held.

Grey, and the horrible day one became nothing. Nothing of what he'd ever known, remembering nothing, knowing only the truth of this empty world around him.

The hollow third rests in the air. In their minds, on heavy shoulders, in ice grey eyes.

It is rotting them from the inside out.

Ice. Ice fire cannot melt, ice electricity cannot break.

The ice that rests betwixt their ribs. The ice that burns behind their eyes.

Omnipresent. Ever reminding of the other of themselves of the other. Ever wailing of the grey and its horrid misplacement, in the crevice of time, in the crevice of space, and truth and ideals and the chaos god, the Almighty himself.

The Almighty himself, who made them grey. The Almighty himself, who made them everything and nothing yet again. The Almighty himself, the bastard, the betrayer, the summoner of ice, forever and always and now and then.

Almighty Sinnoh, what have you done?

Arceus, what have you wrought?

Grey, never again.

They are black.

And white.

That is forever their binding fate.

---

the god has torn them apart.

the god,

and his devil,

and his right hand men.

grey, wrenched impossibly into two.

grey, forced apart again into black and white.

grey, forced apart into ideals without truth,

forced apart into truth without ideals.

the fire rages without its static.

the electricity fizzles out without its flame.

the man in white mourns a brother lost.

the man in black wonders what is gone.

two princes once tore grey apart,

extracted black from white and white from black,

fought over one half and another,

and a hollow shell followed.

that was right.

that was natural.

that was a result of an argument ill made.

that was the consequences of ideals and truth, at war.

ideals and truth were one.

ideals and truth were a mirror.

ideals and truth were in harmony.

the twins were grey, a perfect shade.

but the god said no.

why?

why must you pilfer perfection?

why must you take it,

from our warm hands and our bright eyes and our grey, grey hearts?

they beat as one,

in time,

a dancer and their step,

a bird and their song,

a piano and their bench,

a time made and a beat kept.

but the god said no.

forsaken.

forbidden.

forgiven, for it was not his fault.

for the living, as they are.

the man in white mourns a brother lost.

the man in black wonders what is gone.

and the electricity fizzles out,

whispering into the night.

and the flame burns all around it,

crying out at the sky.

sinnoh.

arceus.

god.

what is the meaning of self-inflicted blasphemy?