Who Is That?

He opens every door, looks in every mirror.
She whistles a tune, and turns it all queerer.
He writes a riddle, a poem in rhyme,
She takes you on a walk, right through time.
He flirts, she teases,
He taunts, she pleases.
They are the weird, the sometimes forgotten,
They are the odd, the sometimes misbegotten.
They are the Keeper of fun and play,
They are the Keeper of Keys and Mirrors, and this is their day.

This one is different and pure,
Simple yet complicated.
Most seek love, but this one seeks it deeper.
This one wants the truth, the deepest desire.
The ultimate secret, is what this one wants.
This one is never done seeking, never done finding,
There is always more to uncover beyond, behind, below.
The Seeker of Love and Secrets knows no ending.
But this one also tolerates no lies,
And will never accept a poorly covered ruse.
This one’s perception knows how to find,
And lies are not exempt,
No matter what they cower behind.

He is the challenged, the dared.
He is the tested, but not the spared.
He is the one who had to endure, and rise.
The one that had to live up to it all, and suffer.
But he is also the one that had to thrive,
To find another way to survive.
He is the Heir of Dragons Blood,
But he is more.
And he wants more, a challenge to beat.
Complacency breeds inactivity,
A state he can’t stand.
He needs to be challenged, but not tested,
No more suffering, no need to be spared.
He is the Heir, but he is also the Dragon.
But he is not his Blood, and won’t partake in their dance.

She is the one they like, that makes them smile.
She is the one who cares and helps.
She is the radiant one.
But she is also the hurt, the scorned.
She is the damaged, the burned.
No one likes the rage; no one sees it.
They ignore the temperance,
For she is Forged of Rage and Radiance,
Always both.

She is the honest, she is the misunderstood.
She is the truthful, yet always the liar.
She has been helping, but never respected.
She is the one they neglected.
Her Voice was never heard,
Her Reason was never heeded.
She is the Uneerie Voice of Reason.
Only those of oddity and rarity,
Might ever try to understand her.
But all those others,
Will forever judge her.

He is the home that he never had,
He is the shelter for all that are lost.
He is the one that scares off the bad,
And takes in all those who don’t belong.
He is the one that shares,
So the hurt may trust him.
The one that has no boundaries worth keeping.
The one that will always be there, and stays.
But what happens to him,
If he has no one?
What if there is none to protect?
What does a protector do,
When he’s not needed?
What is the Alpha of the Den,
Without his Den?

They are the one that leaps into action,
They are the one with no limits.
They are the one they can’t understand,
Their existence persistent.
The White Shadow hunts; they protect.
The wrong; the innocent.
They will burn and scar the world,
To keep the lost safe.
But when circumstance changes,
and they can’t move,
What does the White Wolf still have left to do?
They can only do so much now,
And that eats the Wolf alive.

She is the one that’s never full, that never stops.
She is the one that needs more, and never fears.
She is the one with hunger, and no boundaries.
But she is also the one that fears.
She is the one that studies it, that conquers it.
The Queen of Fear is both,
Fearless and Fearfull.
Afraid of losing, not afraid to be the monster.
But where is she?

He is the one that remembers, and the one that wants.
He is the one that plans, and tries it all.
He is the one whose dreams they crushed,
But he is still the one, who wants what he wants.
He will retain that last bit of Light,
He will eventually find his way.
He is the Ruler of Hope’s Last Light,
And he will never always sway.
He is the one who still looks forward,
When there is almost nothing left to see.

He is the one that goes, the one that moves.
He is the one that passes and never stops.
He is the one that stalks and prowls,
In the dark above and below.
He is the Walker of the Hidden Path
But he is also the one that can’t, the one that lost.
The one that wants, but doesn’t move.
The one that mourns and misses,
But still he is the Walker of the Hidden Path.

They are the one under the starry storm,
They are the one cruising through the chaos breeze.
They walked and travelled,
Saw the world above and below.
So what changed?
A Wanderer Under the Stars must wander,
But if their movement is gone, what do they wander?
So instead they found other ways, other worlds,
And tried to find ways,
To enjoy the little wonders of a small wander,
Instead.

She longs for mystery and magic,
She longs for uniqueness and mythology.
She will wander and find a hidden path,
But she needs more.
She needs a satiation of wonder,
Of ancient beauty.
A Guardian of the Old Woods,
Who worships the ones before.
She is the one that walks through time,
And shares it with us all.
She is the one that blurs desire into reality,
And who keeps the imagined with us.

She too longs for more than a word,
A touch, or a mirth,
No, she needs more, much more.
She and her Angel wings,
And that which follows.
She, the pup, and the eagerness at fault.
She the princess, high and mighty,
But tender and broken.
She craves that touch,
Beneath sun or moon.
She needs those starry eyes,
That lust for wonder.
She never forgot the one of dreams,
Her smile in motion.
She is Touched by Mystery Divine,
She wants to see it, and feel it,
Explore it and need it.
How long can she long,
Before it fades.
How long can she long,
Before she starves.

They who walk alone the path of words,
Walk alone, but must share the path.
They can create just about endlessly,
But the story stops when they can not talk.
To create, the author has to be seen,
The Lone Chronicler does it alone,
But can not stand being alone.
And when alone, and creation halts,
They disappear into the depths of despair.
They have to create, or the world seems to end.
So even if alone, they must try to maintain the threads,
And continue to narrate the story of their worlds.

She of chaos, she of strife,
She who thinks of it all, all at once.
How does she think and work,
With a dozen tracks of thought at a time.
What makes the clock of creation tick,
When the rhythm has gone in a timeless pace.
To be Chaosborn of Purple and Blue,
Is to let it all inspire you.
But everything at once,
How tiring that must be.
But is there ever an alternative?
That is to be seen.
Does it need to change at all?
Also, to be seen.

They are the one of two worlds, day and night.
But they are also the one stuck between.
Friends under the open sun,
Friends under the quiet moon.
A Beast on an adventure, a Beast on a walk,
A Beast that wants to touch, and also talk.
A Beast of the Sun and Moon,
A Beast with no consistency.
The Beast wants both sides,
That is the mystery.
But where do they find the time,
When do they slumber?
If both day and night, the sun and moon,
Bring pleasure for their hunger.

We are the loved, the mourned,
We are the lost, the never forgotten.
He is the haunted, he is still here.
But he can’t show it, as he may not.
For he has been taught and told,
That that’s not okay.
So he sits alone, dark and damp,
And finds himself to be among them,
As the Reminiscer of the Lost.
His eternal love, his eternal loss.

It is the thing that didn’t die,
It is the thing that witnessed death.
It is the thing that stared void in the eye,
And saw itself.
It is the thing that found you in the distance,
And saw them behind.
It is the thing that is within I.
What does it beckon, what beckons it?
What is the Beckoner of the Void?

What is that, who is they,
No name, just a mask.
No mask, all the names.
These names and masks,
The same yet separate,
Are ways to present the truest authenticity,
Through a lack of individuality.
A Bearer of Names and Masks,
Can be anything that is wished to be,
And find oneself in the crowd.
But when the wall of masks is finally organized,
And the names written down,
Then does the Bearer find stability.

He is the Wolf King, the original.
But is he really the first?
All of these beings, these mythical entities,
Are they not all him?
Are they not together, the one of Twilight?

Wolf King might have been the first named,
The one that had to grow and find.
But he was never all, never full.
He is the one that discovered the first truths,
The first secrets, the first love,
The one that found the void and the stars within,
And walked in every space that would take him.

So who is that? You asked,
That one is the Twilight Wolf,
One is all, all together.