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.

Modesty

The ominous ground dragon, Wigrae;
Evil, psychic twin of the inferior Niknogard,
Do present myself for you to study, and compare.
A prerequisite, I wish for "no holds barred."

I am larger in size, both physical and mental,
The Niknogard doesn't even come close to me.
I am more ferocious and volatile,
All they can do is fall over and flee.

Yes, I am the largest and the best.
Yes, I am a humble, modest creature.
Put us together in a grand battle,
I'll come out as the best feature.

Oh, what a modest beauty I am,
You can't compare me to anyone.
Come, dance and dine with me,
Join in my great pleasant fun.

Third Apostle's Letter

It's great to be back, amongst my finest companions. It was good to meet and converse with Nathaniel. But "there's no place like home." So the Ancient saying goes.
It seems awfully, quiet. I know, that the Ancient Lands are both hectic and fast. I also know, that I have been gone for quite a while. No thanks to the TRIPPER. But never, have I seen Garden, so, still.
Where are all my finicky friends?
Never, have they forgotten to make a fuss about my travels. They are constantly curious of the Ancient Lands.
Never, before has Garden been so, eerie.
Why does it seem so, lifeless?
Even Emalf doesn't seem to pay heed, to my persistent cries. Cries for answers.
Will someone, please inform me, of these things?


****** ******* ******* ******* *******


So. It couldn't be avoided. You did your utmost. The damage is done. There is always, hope. There is still a chance, that all is not at an end.
You say that this all happened two turnings ago. Then there's a slim chance, that there are still survivors, both Tender and Assistant.
Without having to confirm it, I would say that Natas has disappeared deep within Mephisot's Catacombs. Unable to comprehend this catastrophe. The enormity of it all. His downfall.
The Songs, they were true in what they spoke.
Come, let us search, for our fallen.


Citizen, the Traveller.

Humour

Misty rides upon Antis's great shoulders,
Who hovers above his brothers formation.
She keeps him intrigued and amused,
With witty, old, needless information.

Ferral is at the point of the arrow head,
Sussing out anything that looks suspicious.
Sil is on his left, Arak is on his right,
Both imagine that anything that is edible, is delicious.

Surviving on the land that surrounds them,
The Eleven make fast progress towards the ranges.
From the arid ranges onto the Highlands,
Where the vegetation and terrain rapidly changes.

It is here that Tash and Job do what's best;
Weaving silk into long lengths of rope.
Misty and Antis have a good old laugh,
While they watch the others climb and grope.

Kindaal's Lure

The sole surviving Wigrae returned,
To the Descendant of the Dark's hiding place.
Although the Wigrae's life was spared,
He had endured a sadistic chase.

The torment and trauma was horrendous,
So much so that the Wigrae had begged for his death.
The Niknogard would have willing obliged,
Except that he was the only one left.

The Wigrae was directed to Natas's disfigured feet,
It is here that the Wigrae told of his ordeal.
Natas didn't pay any attention to the details;
His pride was severed and shall never heal.

Immediate actions were taken in preparation,
For a retaliatory war, not at all pure.
Natas's anger had taken control over his rationing,
Unaware that he had fallen prone to Kindaal's lure.

Shadow Creature

Why, does Natas always send me out here?
Nothing ever happens, nothing is ever alive.
Why, does he always send me out here?
I can't help it if I'm the only one left alive.

He has punished me enough, quite enough,
He has stripped away my great self esteem.
Now all I do, is wander this horrid Between;
Once a Wigrae, now a Shadow Creature called Zeme.

Ever since the Niknogard killed my brethren,
I've lost all strength,

Xenophobia

Xenophobia rages throughout the Highlands,
Much like a sinister, rabid disease.
News of the Eleven had swept like wildfire,
Scared Assistants running away upon their knees.

They would take one look at Antis,
Thinking of him as nothing but a stray.
But all of a sudden they see that Ferral,
Sil, Arak, and the rest want to play.

The Eleven play a game of odds,
They bet on the outcome of the next fight.
That is to say how many opponents run,
And how many stand up from fright.

All the wayward Assistants make for safety,
Which they think lies in the Lowlands.
They are surprisingly led to their imprisonment,
Escorted by a branch of gentle Tender hands.