(no subject)
A random thing I came up with and homophonage
Two poem/paragraph things. Exactly the same to the ear, completely different:
The forever-mourning son drifts in a long-forgotten window, the raise of happiness anticipating the moment where the dampened shadows are conquered and even the most desolate of places shine. The winds bluster, and the skies too blue amongst the brightened daze of son; where the links of the forest sore the hearts of those watching them sink to mans’ life. Est… er… the language lost to the infinite repetition. To reach even the most odd of sorts, is the ball. So far hopes’re what they’ve got. The lute is what brings happiness.
The forever morning sun drifts in a long-forgotten window, the rays of happiness anticipating the moment where the dampened shadows are conquered and even the most desolate of places shine. The winds bluster, and the skies, too, blew amongst the brightened days of sun. Where the lynx of the forest soar the hearts of those watching them sink, too. Mans’ lie festers the language lost to the infinite. Repetition to reach even the most odd of sorts is the bawls of our hopes. Er… what they’ve got? The loot is what brings happiness.