Poems and Short Stories

The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.

The Brave Knight in need of understanding, searching throughout the lands,

Goes to a mountain, where with a wise oracle he wishes to shake hands.

He climbs up the cold snowy slope,

Thinking he will find his own hope.

As he arrives, he sees the Oracle sitting calm,

With a small leather book sitting in his palm.

“Hello,” says the Brave Knight, looking down on the Oracle,

The Oracle looks up and sees something almost historical.

“The Chosen One!” the Oracle cries,

The Knight sits with pride in his eyes.

“I can see your destiny now,” the Oracle smiles,

“But you must understand, it has many hard trials!”

“I understand,” the Knight responds,

“Your wise words are truly my bonds.”

“Now, go!” the Oracle quickly points his finger,

“There is no reason for you, Knight, to linger.”

“I do not understand,” the Knight loudly exclames,

“How am I to understand my special flames?”

“You will know when you see it,” the Oracle replies,

“I said also the same to the last knight to actualize.” 

The Knight stands and cries, “But I am the Chosen One!

What is this devilry ahead of me that you have spun?”

“The Chosen One you are,” the Oracle stands,

“It is your destiny. Feel it in your hands?”

“I do not understand,” the Knight angrily protests,

“There being two Chosen Ones is what you confess?”

“No,” the Oracle says, “I do not say that there are two,

But that a destiny is something everyone must go through.”

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.