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.

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.

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.

Meek of the Squadron

Welcome to the Divisional Aerial Field;
There are so many squadrons to see and greet.
They range from the Sloths to the Sijsads;
We, being the latter are the Assistants meek.

Most of the flying Assistants join forces,
Attacking in the same manner of fashion.
The way we attack is to remove the life force,
This is completed in a frenzied violent passion.

We the Sijsad consist mainly of infiltrates,
Performing in the art of the gracious spy.
We find the weaknesses and or strong points,
Finding out who can or can't fly.

It doesn't always work the way we would like;
The Tenders aren't partial to bribes,
Not through lack of trying to convince;
Tenders pick up all evil nasty vibes.

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.

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.

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,