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.

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.

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.

Guidance (A letter from Emalf)

Hi! Doesn't look good, does it?

The Great One, has given me this bitter job. He has given it to me for one reason; that being, whatever happens to Garden, I will still be here. Maybe, just maybe, you'll protect me from the loneliness. The job, as much as I don't want it, is to inform you of the matters at hand. No offence, it's not you, it's the events that I have been told about. They have already commenced.

I've been introduced before. Now it's time to get to know each other a bit better. I'm Emalf, and you are . . . Come on, don't be shy, after all, we may be the only two left. I'd prefer to be friends, instead of two beings, who won't communicate.

There might still be time. I've contacted the Wanderer. He's received the message, but, well, you don't want to know. Well! Whilst staying with his ancestor, his TRIPPER was stolen. Thieves were everywhere in the Ancient days. I did warn him about that.

The Great One, has chosen you, to protect his favourite realm. I have faith in all of His decisions, and in you.

For now, I'll let you think. Guard Garden to the best of your ability. If you ever need guidance and moral support, just look up. You'll find me. I'm always here.

Emalf.

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.

Communications

All these great forces have united themselves,
Yet they are unorganised, but ready.
The Wanderer is absent, they need a leader,
Whose nerves are rock hard and steady.

Who will lead this deserving cause?
Who will co-ordinate the battles to come?
Who can cope with the pressures?
Who is five steps ahead of everyone?

When is this person going to speak up?
Not even Rexoch can conjure up such a person.
But Rexoch will handle all communications,
He will be the aide for this person.

Wait! I hear a strangers voice calling.
You will accept, Rexoch will be pleased.
Understand communications are going to be difficult,
But at last, vengeance can finally be released.

Tempest

The quietude, was far too quiet,
Not unlike the calm before the storm.
Something was wrong, horribly wrong,
They waited, to endure this unseen scorn.

All of a sudden all hell broke free,
The tempest raged with a mind of it's own.
Great old tress came crashing down around them,
They could hear others in the distance, groan.

The skies were alive with bright white snakes,
Slithering towards and striking at anything.
Seas of the sky had broken their banks,
Sending torrents down upon the Eleven's ring.

The Eleven were at the mercy of this entity,
As it's tongue lashed out continuously.
Then, as it arrived it disappeared,
Leaving it's destruction for all to see.