Aethel Wallpaper Gallery

Poetry

The Garden

The following poems are randomly selected from part A of the Garden series.

If you are patient, the whole story may appear. There is a doorway on this site, that will open to the poetry collection, both in context and complexity.

Descendant of the Dark

HAH !!! Do you think that you can keep me out? Yes, yes, you. The mere mortal that you are.

Well now, before you even think about closing your eyes, or looking elsewhere, think. Are the knees getting a bit weak? I, am going to grant you an interesting opportunity. And that is to be, that you shall meet and be introduced to my fellow assistants.

Since I'm in such a good mood, strange as it may be, I'll even release you. You may return back to that humble Garden if you so desire. It is there, if you wish to, that you may protect it's inferior beings. If you can!

A mortal! Hah, hah, hah! Has the Wanderer taken leave of his senses?

Guards!

Take this, this imbecile to meet his destiny.

Ho Hum, it's hard at the top. I've done it again, haven't I? I've forgotten to introduce myself. Fancy that. But, then again, everyone knows that I'm Natas, Descendant of the Dark. Lord of the Infidel.

West Coast ( Kindaal's Thoughts )

Where's the Runner, he's been gone too long?
I sent him out to report on how Ferral is going.
Then again, he may be on his way now.
One thing is for sure, my temper is growing.

My patience was at it's tethers end,
So I sent out another Runner on the third day.
The second Runner was only gone for the night,
When he came back, this was all he could say.

"I looked all over the Between Kindaal,
To see nothing, except it's heat haze.
I climbed the Highlands, to see a disturbance,
It looked like the Two Towers were ablaze."

It seems to me that Ferral has progressed well,
Better than I had possibly thought.
Well, time to make a move forwards,
To help Ferral on his fantastic haunt.

Foreword (The Garden)

Garden is a small shire, within the boundaries of the sinister Nothing. The people, both animated and mortal, keep their shire clean and beautiful. They also protect their shire from natural foes. Life is usually calm and tranquil in this serene shire, known as Garden.

Nothing's infamous tyrant, Natas, wants most, if not all, of Nothing under his total control. He usually leaves Garden alone. That is until he gets bored with his demonic means of entertainment.

The actual land mass, Nothing, is surrounded by a shallow void; namely "Nothing's Void". To the northern tip of Nothing, across it's Void, lies the Ancient Lands. It was there, were the Ancients would wander (and wonder) about. I say used to; as they were all wiped out by an unpleasant plague. The inhabitants of Nothing, were protected from this horrid plague by the sheer vastness of Nothing's Void.

In the following poems and letters, you will have the opportunity of getting to know most of the Inhabitants; most, not all. You will meet the Wanderer, who with the use of his TRIPPER (Time Rectifier in Parallel Places, Envelope Runner), visits the Ancients.

A fact, which you might find startling, is that Garden, Nothing, and their inhabitants actually exist. There is a piece of the Wanderer, in all of us. What's more, Nothing and Garden aren't that far away. Everything has it's good with it's bad.

Everywhere you look, there is a fragment of Nothing in what you see.

A Modest Tender

I was born to be gentle, yet powerful;
If only the Ancients knew, what I know.
For I am wiser than the Elder Ancients;
Considering I was conceived a million millenniums ago.

I am the youngest of my relations,
However, I have far more important duties.
They range from assisting the blind with light,
To giving enough warmth to the little cuties.

My closest friends, the Nooms, are also Tenders,
In the sense, that they carry out what I do.
Well Not as much, they can be quite lazy,
But I consider them as my nocturnal shoe.

Only one, is greater than myself, Emalf,
Being the Only One, who created me, you as well.
The Great One has many names and faces.
The God of gods, persuader of the infidel.

Tranquil Lovers

We are the guardians of the air,
Brothers of the underground Esor.
We show ourselves, only to the believers,
Who see us work without flaw.

Infiltraters, like the Dihpa, are our prey,
Disappearing like songs unsung.
We are the lords of all sight,
Fierce and tireless are our young.

We, the Dribydal, use illusion,
As a means to confuse others,
Making them believe we're harmless,
The Garden's lonely, tranquil lovers.

What a wicked web we weave,
Enticing the Dihpa, completely unaware.
Our dragon kin young, just attack,
Leaving the Dihpa without a prayer.

Behind a Closed Door

The Wanderer prepared for his trip,
Not looking forward to his absence,
As on his travels throughout the barren void,
He can only think of Garden's fragrance.

The Garden, is never left unattended,
Although the Wanderer is behind a closed door.
He has never seen us at work,
Nor does he know, that we are called the Esor.

He knows of our quiet presence,
Freshening the basis of all growth.
The Wanderer and the Esor's alliance,
Is a powerful, solemn, unspoken oath.

We are one of the many Tenders,
Who care for the Garden's well being;
Keeping it fresh and vibrant,
Appeasing the great All Seeing.