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.

Hasten's Return

It is nice of the Tender and the Eleven,
To give me food, and water for the coming trip.
It won't be long before it starts happening,
When illusion and insanity tend to get a grip.

You need a strong mind when you go Between,
It also helps if you can control your imagination.
The mirages there, are so much larger than life;
They can kill and resurrect, without hesitation.

We rarely have to cross the Between,
But when it is at hand, we are vital;
Messengers to the leaders, conveyors of orders.
It's relieving, that Between is calmest at nightfall.

But for now I need much needed, valuable rest,
I have to be completely aware, crossing Between.
My body has to be physically strong;
My mind, has to be clean and keen.

Bull Horn

The Niknogard charged at double time,
Forming the famous formation, the Bull Horn.
The Wigrae became aware of their pursuit,
Thus they planned a counter attack on the second dawn.

The Bull Horn formation is designed well;
Consisting of two major flanks and a front.
When the front encounters the enemy,
The flanks then fold, creating a massive stunt.

The enemy is surrounded by the Bull Horn,
They are at the mercy of their captors.
There is no escape from this deadly weapon,
The captured therefore have to endure their foes rapture.

So it happened to the Wigrae's main force,
Surrounded, from then on they were all killed.
That is except one, who was released,
To inform his master, who won't be thrilled.

He Calls Me Sloth

The Master, he calls me Sloth,
He, he and everyone thinks that I'm dumb.
That is not at all true, it's a lie,
I'm intelligent, and what's more, I'm handsome.

The Master is very mean to me,
I mean to say, I am quite hairy;
Plus there is the advantage of not being legless.
But what he does to me is scary.

He tells me that I need a rest,
That I should cut down on a few things.
Anyway, I get myself a silk blanket,
An when I wake up, he's gone and given me wings.

My body needs the warmth of light;
The Master plays more tricks than anyone.
While I'm not looking, in the right direction,
He makes the warm light, as hot as the sun.

Sorties

A quick brief on the rest of the Division.
There are the Feslii, Spaws, Truth Feslii.
These are the squadrons of Aerial Reconnaissance,
Who assist the Sijsad in their relentless pry.

Then there are the Fael Hoppers,
This squadron won't give up in any fight;
Where there's a will there is a way,
And by the way they pack a good bite.

The Takien are of the Minor Meek,
Small, but able to perform delicate jobs.
Most of these occupations are significant,
Disabling weak hearts leaving only their throbs.

There are others both large and small,
But they have already been broken apart;
To re-group into even more powerful sorties.
The sort of information to break the warmest heart.

Eleven's Gathering

Tyne and Valen waited eagerly, patiently,
They could see the other nine on the rise.
Soon the Eleven were to become as one;
Wiser, stronger, bonded through spiritual ties.

There's; Ferral of the Elite, Leader of the Eleven.
Arak of the Soeh, Master at Arms.
Sil of the Abe, Collector of Long Sight.
Misty of the Cogil, Teller of the Psalms.

Then there's; Pilot of the Sky, Antis of the Elder Preacher.
First Weaver of Silk, Tash of the Nish.
Second Weaver of Silk, Job of the Inco.
Spinner of the Trap, Aaro of the Miche.

Last but not least;
Bo of the Sest, Strategist for the Eleven.
Tyne of the Esor, Master of the Underground.
Valen of the Esor, Artist of Enticement.
Hell has no fury, now that these hearts are bound.

Brothers of Gub

I am a member, of the Brothers of Gub.
I, myself am a member of the lower order,
Being just a normal, humble Surtic;
Not even recognised as being a marauder.

One day, I'm going to be something;
Maybe even a Quinharle, or even a Faelminer.
I may even end up being , an Ecal Gub;
That promotion is a raise, that couldn't be finer.

They get the best jobs, and rewards.
Imagine, never again, being placed in the line;
The line of death, the confrontation of good.
Instead of drinking Emils, able to drink wine.

If only he would let me go,
Let me become one of my brothers,
Then, and only then will I sublet,
And show some respect, to the others.