Tag: poetry

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

As it was told, the dwarves lost their home,

Because of the Dragon, the dwarves only roam.

In search of a way, to restore their pride,

The Dwarves want to return, anything to be tried.

The day the Dragon woke, in search of even more gold, 

When the Dragon faced the Black Fortress, a move very bold.

The Dwarves saw the whole thing, and that made them scheme,

What if they could convince the Black Fortress, to be on their team?

On one dreadful night, it was raining a pour,

And the Dwarven King walked upon an evil floor.

The Tyrant smiled, as he saw the dwarf come,

The dwarf was welcomed with a loud drum.

The dwarf made his case, to regain his throne,

All they really wanted was to go back home. 

The Tyrant was kind, and said it could be done, 

But a payment was to be made, there is nothing for none.

The offer was simple, and easy to handle,

The dwarven machinery was the heart of the scandal.

The dwarves got to work, on the evil dark tower,

Adding even more, to the Black Fortress power.

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

The Dragon in his pride swoops his wings over the Black Fortress,

The orcs in their fear fire their arrows to protect their evil highness.

Please do not get it wrong now, the Dragon is not for good,

But even evil turns against itself, having real friends it never could.

The Dragon takes from the dark lord’s treasury, swiftly and quickly,

And then back to his cave, as too much activity makes him sickly.

The Tyrant rages and quakes, this gold was to fund his war,

In the caves of the Dragon, it is only a bed for the snake to snore.

In the flying serpent’s home, the riches pile high,

Though never to be used, the Dragon doesn’t buy.

Admiring what he has collected, a shiny and elegant mound,

The Dragon will always hunt for more, like a hungry hound.

The Tyrant sends his hosts to the cave, he needs it to use,

But when it comes to a Dragon, not one penny he will loose.

The battle begins with the cries of the orcs,

The claws of the Dragon piercing them like forks.

They fight and they fight, terrible blow for blow,

Both becoming weaker, the violence we will forego.

In the end both wounded, they return to their homes,

With nothing accomplished, but a ground of bones.

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

In the great forest on the east side of the map,

There lived a beautiful elf and a normal human chap.

Their love was so deep, even deeper than valleys,

If love had a score, theirs would have the most tallies.

The elf was with child, almost ready to blow,

All the animals gathered round as if to see a show.

As the morning broke, there was a wind in the air,

It was time for new life, an answer to love’s prayer.

The couple bore a daughter, and she shined with light,

The first half-elf was born, her eyes strong and bright.

The animals rejoiced at this momentous occasion,

It seemed as if all darkness was gone, never an invasion.

The couple looked happily at their new kin,

The time needed no words, only a grin.

Love shall swallow all the dark evil brought onto the realm,

And though it is not yet known, the half-elf will be at the helm.

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

In the green forest, with bugs, bushes, flowers, and trees tall,

There was a Druid with great antlers as a crown to see for all.

The Druid walked about his day, looking to the ground,

And then his ears perked at a very peculiar sound.

He followed a lovely voice, so light and soft,

Until he found its origin in a natural undercroft.

Jumping on a leaf, danced a Sprite,

Comparable to a sparrow in height.

“Hello, Mr. Druid!” the Sprite continued dancing,

“And hello to you!” the Druid replied, glancing.

“What are you doing?” the Sprite jumped very high,

“Only my work,” said the Druid with a glint in his eye.

“And what is your work?” the Sprite stopped and smiled,

“To tend to the forest,” the Druid said. “I love the wild!”

“But the wild does not love you!” the Sprite pointed up,

The Druid leaned over to the Sprite and said “yup.”

“So why do you do it?” the small Sprite danced again,

“Because I love the wild!” the Druid laughed like a hen.

“The wild does not need to love,” the Druid continued,

“What do you mean?” the Sprite said in a gay mood.

“Look what you do upon the leaf,” the Druid nodded,

“Dancing!” the Sprite clapped her hands and applauded.

“You do not need the forest’s love,” said the Druid. “To understand its merit,”

The Sprite sat on the leaf perplexed, “Oh. That is something we all inherit!”