The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.
In the fog and winds of the highest tower,
There lives a great and terrible power.
Neither good nor evil, he sits up high,
He listens to all, and his might is in reply.
By the words of his mouth, things come to be,
But sometimes they can be hard to see.
Words don’t matter, I hear you might say,
A confusing mistake for which you will pay.
What is Hate? Or Love? Or Fate?
A magic reality for the Conjuror to create.
The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.
The dwarves are still lost, all without a home,
Barely any food and shoeless they roam.
On one fateful day, there upon the vast and sunny plains,
The dwarves found something, something to end horrid dreary rains.
It was shiny silver ore, but a bit unique,
For it glistened in darkness so to speak.
“We’ll make a mirror,” the Dwarven King said,
And with that, the dwarves took the ore and fled.
It took many nights, in the dwarven shops,
They used many great tools and funny looking props.
And finally at the end of all their laboring sweat,
The dwarves had a mirror before the king set.
The mirror was wonderful and reflected each star,
A mirror worth millions if sold in a far off bazaar.
In this time the dwarves sadness was forgot,
On their lost home was not a single thought.
Their pride grew strong surrounding the mirror,
And in their pride a darkness grew nearer.
During a moonless night, the Dwarven King stood
Before the mirror with as much jewelry as he could.
He admired and admired, his stature stout and grand,
When a shadow appeared in the mirror and took his hand.
It pulled itself from the mirror, giving the dwarves a fright,
It was an evil and dark wraith that came into sight.
It flew high into the air and made a hideous screech,
The dwarves all cowered and hoped to get out of reach.
Three dwarves were killed, as it swooped quickly below,
It ate their souls, as does things that are life’s foe.
And now the kingdoms troubles grow as another villain lurks
Leaving the dwarves even worse as a result of their works.
The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.
With the Kingdom in disarray, the dark clouds gather,
The Tyrant sees his chance with evil to slather.
Building up his orcs, he readies his attack,
With his Lieutenant, leading the treacherous pack.
They leave the Black Fortress, with the speed of lightning,
What came next for the Kingdom was more than frightening.
Orcs spread their awful fear across the map,
Villages blazed with the certainty of a snap.
The Kingdom now enslaved, to work for power,
Control has been solidified, the free cower.
The Tyrant now sits on the human throne of gold,
And his dark Lieutenant sits again in the cold stronghold.
The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.
A putrid smell can be found hanging harshly in the air,
Coming from a place that has denied ever knowing care.
A place of animalistic intent with the reason of man,
I talk of a place for the horrid goblin clan.
The goblins are cunning but evil and violent,
And in their heads is never a moment silent.
Their victims are plenty all across the land,
But they are also victims of their own hand.
With all you have heard, you may judge them hard,
But sometimes the truth about goblins we disregard.
When goblins attack the town, men take up swords,
The men are rewarded by the town and become lords.
The greatest lord cries to finally rid the town of this woe,
And on they march, equipped with sword and crossbow.
As the lords approach the den, swords in fist,
They are met with the most unfortunate twist.
The goblins quickly overrun and take them within,
And now the lords are twisted and share in goblin sin.
For goblins were once men, and men they can be again,
A battle won not with the sword, but only with the pen.