Pre-2015 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.

East Coast ( Ferral's Thoughts )

We've been waiting for Hasten's return,
As he should have returned by now.
Maybe, he's still resting up with Kindaal;
Maybe, he's only away by an hour.

Since he's been gone, things have been stirring.
I think that we are awfully close to the Towers,
Because the fires and chanting are alive;
I don't know if they are Natas's or ours.

I sent a scout out to confirm my thoughts.
He returned to tell me of the Assistant's retreat;
How they were running scared from something,
Unaware of what, he couldn't see through Between's heat.

I do wish Hasten would speed things up,
So I could attack, instead of this dreary wait.
I so wish, Hasten would give me Kindaal's orders,
So that I could seal Natas's deserved fate.

Nothing's Inhabitants pt 2

I too belong to this Garden,
To even the balance of Evil and Good.
My mission, humble as it is,
Is to infiltrate the roots of all good.

The Wanderer I must avoid,
As only he can destroy me.
His vigil is second to none,
Always ready with his army.

I slipped by unnoticed by the Wanderer,
Beginning my attack underground;
Taking by surprise the succulent beauties,
Trembling at the mere mention of my heartless sound.

What's this, the table is turned,
The killer about to be killed.
No mercy to be shown.
Once again, the mission is unfulfilled.

The Wanderer's Wish

If I died in your arms,
Where would you lay me?
If I needed to be helped,
Would you come and save me?
All these questions that could be asked,
The answers, I need never know.
For they are locked away,
Only you know how high the roses will grow.

The colour of our roses,
Bloom in burgundy and blue,
Thorns of hatred are blunt;
Isn't this the way we grew?
A fragrance beyond all encounters,
Deep colours like blood flow,
Into our hearts, deepening this love;
Only you know, how high the roses will grow.

The Preacher

The Preacher, is what I am known as,
Although I rarely preach of the Great One.
I am a master of arms, subtle and harrowing,
Many a bloody, tireless battle I have won.

My reputation strikes fear into the infidel,
As they know of my savage battle skill.
Occasionally I will show them some mercy;
Mercy in the sense of a swift kill.

My elders, our fathers, the Prayer,
Are even more vicious in any fight.
Their intentions are for the larger prey,
Like the Sloth flying amongst the candle light.

Yes, we live a barbarous life,
Yet at times we are a serene choir.
But a warning must be heeded;
When angered we have the rage of fire.

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.

Nothing's Inhabitants pt 1

Here I stand in a garden,
Looking over a vastness of Nothing.
My friends stand close by,
Searching it's horizons for something.

We enjoy our own company,
As we know each other well.
Our domain is rarely challenged,
Excepting for the occasional cell.

Seasons change in favour for the foes,
Who march on Nothing's void.
Increasingly closer these villains approach,
Taking our sustenance into the void.

My friends shout, a shout of defiance,
Informing me of our Wandering Friend,
He visits on a weekly basis,
Delivering a blow to our foe's evil trend.