Tag: poetry

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

The Half-Elf was grown, and she was a sight to see,

To speak of her marvelousness, she was equal to three.

On a warm spring noontide, flowers danced in the sun,

A vision was planted in her head, and her thoughts spun.

She saw the kingdom restored and peace upon the lands,

With memories of hope and love blowing with picked-up sands.

There was one thing she had to do, according to her dreams,

She had to free the throne from the Tyrant’s evil sewn seams.

She took her pilgrimage with fear hanging above her head,

For facing the Tyrant was something anyone would dread.

After her march, she looked upon the great kingdom’s palace,

For it is now a strange place twisted by the Tyrant’s cruel callous. 

She snuck ever so quietly into the city walls,

For orcs were abound in every building’s halls.

With a strong kick, she broke down the throne room’s doors,

And there was nothing but bones and blood covering the floors.

On the seat sat the Tyrant, very angry and proud,

He stood with a shock and let out a shout very loud.

The Half-Elf held up her hand and light burst from her palm,

And from her fair lips whispered a wonderful psalm. 

The Tyrant cowered from the Half-Elf’s amazing magic,

He ran from his seat for this power to him was tragic.

He jumped from the window and transformed to a bat,

The Tyrant looked back down at the palace and spat.

And he flew away quickly into the night, 

Back to his own throne to regain his might.

The Half-Elf hid off into a secluded tower,

For the orcs were still around with terrible power.

And there she hid for many days and days,

Waiting for the next step of her vision to blaze.

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.