Tag: poetry

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

Much is told of the Tyrant in his Black Fortress,

Stories that certainly make one feel heartless,

The Tyrant is cruel and the Tyrant is mean,

But is that really all he has ever been?

The Tyrant once lived in the fair King’s city,

A young boy with passion, and quite witty.

The day the quake shook all of the lights,

The day the Kingdom learned of black nights.

The young boy saw something of terrible fate,

And right there it changed him to a different state.

With rage in his hand, and hate in his heart,

Whatever happened there, is The Tyrant’s start.

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

In the dwarven canyon, dwarves digging down deep,

In search of more riches, their work camps creep.

They dig and they dig, in search of more precious metal,

For great new statues, and beautiful things to peddle.

The canyon got deeper, and the ore began to dwindle, 

And out of one of the cracks, a flame started to kindle.

From the small fissure, a lizard stepped out,

It had small little wings, and a cute little snout.

It spread its wings, and the dwarves pushed it aside,

So out of the canyon, went the lizard with a glide.

Many months passed, since that strange little flame,

But soon a bad fate upon the dwarves unexpectedly came.

The lizard had grown, and, oh, with such might,

Down came the Dragon bringing ill fright.

The dwarves took up maces, to protect their home,

But much of that canyon, became a dark catacomb.

The Dragon smelled the secret dwarven cave,

And only for riches and gold, is the Dragon a slave.

The Dragon took over, the great dwarven hold,

And the dwarves left their home, it is mostly told.

The somber Dwarven King, surviving the fate,

Began to look for a solution, to restore his state.

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

The Elves are a strange folk, indeed they are,

They live anywhere and everywhere, quite bizarre. 

They have no towns, and they have no might,

They live on the road, never looking for a fight.

But the Elves are wise beyond their ears,

Which makes up for their lack of spears.

They live forever among the trees,

Doing whatever they so please.

They sing and dance and smile all day,

Well… until the Tyrant entered the fray.

They can heal the hurt and heal the sick,

With a small spell that does the trick.

Their magic can shield against attack,

Something great to have on your back.

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

On the edge of the Kingdom, there is a land,

Dark and terrible, directed by a cunning hand.

In its midst is the Black Fortress, oh so tall and strong,

And sitting on its throne is the Tyrant that never sings song.

“What use is a song?” the Tyrant scowls to himself,

For there are many uses for each tool on his shelf.

Throughout his domain, his slaves work and work,

His slaves can be of the race of man, elf, or orc.

They build and they build, for what? It can’t be known.

For in this land, the only thing that matters is his throne.

Their tools build tools, and their power breeds power,

All for the security of the Tyrant sitting in his tower.

But the Tyrant is a coward, it is easy to see,

He intends to never die, his power is a plea.

You must understand his throne is his fear,

And for that, he may never know cheer.