3D Poetry

Poetry

The Garden

The following poems are randomly selected from part B 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.

Reality

The Dihpa have scoured the countryside,
They have rewarded me, with what I want to know.
A force on the East Coast, another on the West;
Now I can get on with this, the ultimate show.

Raspitur is creating some new Shadow creatures,
But I can't wait for them to be conceived.
I have learnt from previous mistakes with Garden,
Personally a different goal will be achieved.

I've selected the best of my numerous mobs,
They will soon be on surprise attacks.
I will use them as a diversion for the others,
Whom have renamed themselves as the Maniax.

The Maniax comprise of Shadow Creatures,
All remaining Sorties, Gubs, and many more.
They, like me, bear an insatiable hunger,
For the forthcoming blood, sweat, and gore.

Quietude

The Eleven broke camp, all was quiet.
The stillness matched it's brother, the dark.
Eerie, but the Eleven enjoyed their rest,
That was until Zech, the Zealot, decided to park.

A Zealot, is an Assistant with a bad reputation,
They persistently squawk about Natas's wisdom.
This Zealot, Zech, has got a big problem,
He is about six castles short of a small kingdom.

Zech sat by the Eleven's warming fire,
Doing nothing but talk, talk, talk.
It wasn't until he noticed Misty,
That he knew he had ended his casual walk.

It was good to know that he still talked,
He will keep the guards at Ketpoc amused.
Ketpoc is forever increasing in the number of captives;
But they are kept well, never mistreated or abused.

Oversight

I walk a very tender and fragile edge,
I have to keep a look out all the time.
If my vigil fails, for a slender moment,
I fall into the balance of a rhyme.

If the two lines have a common rhyme,
Then I am to be given the second chance.
But woe, if those lines fall by the wayside,
I'll be thrown in front of the predator's glance.

It's hard, having so many natural enemies,
Being considered as a succulent sweet.
It is cumbersome being one of the Dihpa,
Not even protected by Summer's harsh heat.

The only protection the Master granted,
Is being so small, and our weird shape.
We are grateful, for this gift of oversight,
But we have no means of an escape.

Welcome to the Laboratory

Welcome to the laboratory of Raspitur,
Alchemist of the infamous Dark Master.
I create all the wonderful potions,
Either destroying growth or making faster.

Creator of all diseases and all vermin,
No job is too big nor is it too small.
All concoctions are to be used with care,
Caring to see who's going to fall.

Wherever I wander in this world,
I leave behind a unique trademark.
It's oddity lies in it's devastation,
Left outside the Garden's outer arc.

Well that's all from me anyway.
You will get to know the rest.
The Master has instructed me,
To send you back to wherever is best.

Uprising

Never before has so many joined forces:
The underground Tenders, the Aerial Acrobats,
The Fey, and their Seen Brothers, old and young.
An alliance formed, with the Mythical Cats.

The Mystical Panther broke free,
His anger pointed toward the Descendant.
Then, almost out of no where, Rexoch appeared;
The great Mystic, holder of the Oracle Pendant.

All these, and ever so more,
Made alliances, pacts, and blood ties.
The atmosphere of this coming together,
United friendship shining in everyone's eyes.

The meek, rubbing shoulders with the great,
The great associating with the meek.
Rexoch struck his staff immediately lighting the sky,
Proclaiming that we will be rid of Dark's reek.

Young and Old

This is the time, Natas waited so patiently for,
The concealed story in the Song, is finally told.
Although Ferral and Kindaal won't know beforehand,
They will know it's on for young and old.

Clashes, conceived from clashes.
Death, born out of the slain.
Bloods, forming into pools of lava.
Sanity, swallowed up by the insane.

The Assistants fell upon the Tenders,
Like the tempest did fall upon the Eleven.
All fallen beings, finding immortality,
In their own individual hell, or heaven.

The beast is released, in full force,
No preference, for it devours old and young.
The foretold song, of the final conflict,
In full glory, is now being sung.