Ire and fire build a great pyre,
A smoky haze,
Stumbling ways,
Of perpetual days,
Stuck in the rut we try our luck,
By bringing the others down,
To have them embrace a frown,
Why is it done,
But out of sheer fun,
Or of a boredom that has set in.
Notes:
Trying to get back into writing poetry after a long hiatus.
A light shines through a torn window blind,
Bringing a dawning to the mind,
Dust floating in the air,
An uneasy settling of the affair,
Crusted and scabbed life,
Is it all that remains here?
A battle lost, a war yet won,
Does hope shine through the tear?
Hand reaching through the air,
Grasping for the shining column,
Hair shimmering, words glaring, smell ensnaring in the mind,
Time is still left to undo the crime,
To repair the theft,
Of the stolen mine.
Notes:
Character of the poem is not my self but a character I have in mind, with a particular setting. Since only I would know, I will try to elucidate to the reader as to who and what in as short as possible that character and setting are.
Who: The Soldier from the Noctem Eternus concept.
What:
The Soldier is a member of the Eternal Night Society, not a society of vampires, but a society of magicians, wizards, sorcerers, witches, etc.
The Soldier at this point in the fourth era, known simply as “Society’s End”, has been beaten by the antagonist, in the process the Priestess, his love, has been captured.
Imprisoned in a makeshift dusty room with a window covered by a window blind, half out of his mind, a column of light comes into the room.
After being there in for who knows how long (I know), he reaches out towards the light finally, and begins to reestablish his sanity.
Where it goes from there is known by myself and the concept paper, so don’t ask. Heh
Closing my eyes,
Cold wind flowing over corpses,
The shattered lain,
Of the forces of man,
Are we nothing,
But the perverse worshippers of death,
A desire that ruins the natural change,
Must we kill over and over again?
Must we never cease in our hurry to end,
What just began?
No,
We can be so much more,
If only we take a stand,
Against the destructive hand,
We must stand,
Against the wailing song,
We must stand,
Against the intolerance,
We must stand,
For if we do not stand,
What is left?
Destruction, order, disorder, and more destruction,
That will leave nothing,
A stain where we once remained.
Opening my eyes.
Notes:
The exact poem was lost as I said it to the wind in the rain. The remnants of what was there is all that is here.
