Hetalia Nation Poems - RussiaI Am Not What I Am
The snow falls relentlessly,
a constant in a constant world,
building a layer of frost around my heart,
held out in my hand,
soon to turn to ice.
My heart upon my sleeve,
I am not what I am,
the hole it left behind filled with sunflowers,
a hope against all likelihood.
In the eyes of the world,
there lies only what the snow has made of me,
the monster General Winter has crafted,
and the sisters who warm my heart,
enough for the dull light of emotion to escape.
Yet I long to be loved,
to end this suffering that has driven me to madness,
to run to warmer climates in the arms of another,
but never my Bella,
whose heart is marred as much as mine under winter's witchcraft,
which longs to paint the tundra red.
And oh how I long to kill with her,
dye the seas in their blood,
claim the world as one with mother Russia,
but then I would be alone with her,
Alone with Bella,
and that is something I fear more than myself.
Sunflowers do not have the capacity to love,
Hetalia Nation Poems - HungaryFor You
Perched upon the balcony,
I watch the mountains,
Knowing what bloodshed and evil lies beyond their bases,
And I long for my sword and bow,
To feel their weight at my side,
in my rough and callused hands.
But the weight at my side belongs to another now,
My hands greedy for the touch of something else,
or should I say someone,
as he passes through the garden below,
head held high,
ever the aristocrat.
And I watch you pass in secret from my overhead perch,
the rhythm of your steps,
the grace with which you walk,
the countenance of business that ever graces your handsome face.
I have much to learn.
For I'd draw my sword a thousand times or more in your defence,
face the bloodshed, sneers, and mud,
the only skill I can provide to show my loyalty,
but I'd drop my swords in an instant,
and slip back into dresses and ribbons and bows,
for that careful smile,
the moment lighting your violet eyes,
imagining the music racing through your mind behind them
And you're behind me
Hetalia Nation Poems - AustriaReckless
Careful fingers bring life to the room,
the tempo matching the rhythm of my heart,
the voice of a nation,
and I smile,
thinking of naught but you.
Soft footfalls underscore like quiet drums,
and I hear them,
knowing you're there,
each beat increasing the tempo,
rising to a crescendo,
and the orchestra cries into the night sky,
your arms slip around me.
The melody falters under your touch,
but catches itself,
hoping you wouldn't notice,
and your soft breathing awakes an old melody,
underscored by the left,
while the right proclaims the magic of the moment,
The music fades away,
slowly and carefully,
last whispers before its evening slumber,
and before I turn to you,
my heart melting under your eyes,
in a way not even my music can hope to explain.
But I imagine it would crescendo into some heroic tune of trumpets and fanfare,
scarcely befitting of careful, calculated me,
as I pull you close and taste your lips,
abandoning it all,
the music, the gentleman, the wor