Water in vain tries to take hold of sand.
The ocean foolishly tries to claim the land.
“Come back to me.” he says to her,
The ocean to the shore.
“A little while longer.”
She answers in reply.
“When our mother in her great blanket,
Warms above: the skies,
Then we shall be much closer,
Our love. You and I.”.
Posted in Nature
Tagged blanket, closer, earth, hold, land, mother, ovean, poem, poetry, sand, shore, skies, sky, warm, water
Burning roses by the sea,
A fragrant smoke that all can see.
A child plays in the rising tide.
Its mother, her fears, in God doth confide.
A beautiful thing, burnt, no more.
Priceless lives we all adore.
Courage to go into the waves
Does nothing for one who waits on the shore.
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged burn, child, God, mother, poem, poetry, priceless, rose, shore, tide, waves
Once she had a thought.
Once she had strength,
Once there was a day at length.
And with that thought she,
Tried to escape on her own.
But few are they who can truly leave home.
No real attempt was made,
I’ll tell you why,
Her son gave her reason to try.
And try she does. Against all odds
She’s none the worse for wear.
There isn’t much for these winds and waves that she can prepare.
Forward to the future,
Leaving the past behind,
And abandoning those unkind,
She isn’t likely to quickly change her mind.
Still carrying scars and mending broken wings,
She awakes to a new day and sings.
What is scarred and broken is no burden,
When it’s so bright, what’s behind the next curtain.
Posted in Rise Above
Tagged alone, burden, day, Future, leave, mother, poetry, reason, scar, son, strength
Introduction: For those unfamiliar with Magic: the gathering and its lore, the following is a brief retelling of some part of the main events in the Eldrich Moon storyline. Emrakul is the most powerful of three eldrazi titans; the other two have already been destroyed by the Gatewatch. She was worshipped as a god on the world she was previously imprisoned, the inhabitants having forgotten over a period of thousands of years what she actually was. Each of the three titans bend reality and effect the world in certain ways, Emrakul does this by corrupting and mutating all living matter, transforming it into her twisted brood.
I’ve intended this piece to be written from a bards point of view, perhaps a retelling many years after these events have unfolded. The accompanying card images are those from the game that have inspired this poem. I love the game and love the lore. I hope you enjoy this one as it was a fun write. 🙂
It of this horrid swarm and the sanity that it does encroach,
From within to burst forth; from a smaller one it grows.
It may be said to be of forgotten gods and their reproach,
Evident of the many in its wake; the corpses below.
The ancient mother brings the Mockery and the Deep-Fiend,
And such as those that ride as one to prey upon the uncorrupted.
The swarm of horror that’s gone before, by any can be seen,
How their forms become confused and then convoluted.
All of sanity, all coherent thought gone.
From the ancient mother nothing is hidden,
Her cultists sing an unrecognizable song
That pulls, and from the blind eternities she’s bidden.
There are few able to fight them, these are the ones who watch.
This swarm of horrors spells the end of this world soon,
But if they succeed and their plans remain unbotched,
The swarm will be defeated and their mother will become imprisoned in the moon.
Note on the artwork: As I was unable to contact the appropriate parties for permission on using the preceeding artworks, I request that Wotc or other owners of said art not to c/d me. 🙂 However should the owners of aforementioned art so desire I will respectfully remove said artwork/images. That being said, I do not believe I have used the card art out of context and am just a fan retelling a story in my own way. 🙂
Posted in story
Tagged confuse, convolute, cultist, EldrichMoon, emerge, Emrakul, fantasy, horror, Innistrad, Moon, mother, MTG, poetry, sanity, swarm
The dances of ashes as the flames fall,
Transforming into coal, so red, so warm,
From the corpse of the wood, no smoke at all.
No grey tail in the sky; none left to warn.
From a cradle of life, now darkness, death.
T’was our own hand, set this forest a flame,
Gave no thought to future, what would be best.
Our own hand set it, none other to blame.
“Is there no hope left for the burning earth?”
We wander wailing. How much do we help?
One finger lifted, to green we’d give birth.
What we do wondering about the self.
God’s green earth; we must care for our mother.
The same way, we must love one another.
Posted in Nature, Sonnets
Tagged ash, brother, burn, earth, fire, flame, green, love, mother, poetry, smoke, sonnet, wail
And the little one she asks you
Why you think that this is your fault,
You cannot answer it’s something that you can’t recall.
A hundred times I’ve told you you’re pointlessly blaming yourself.
And the little one she crys. Don’t think that this is your fault.
Fighting these thoughts from day to day.
You’re watching her play,
And then you pray.
That you’ll turn out better than yours before;
While you left to play,
She stayed away.
Though eveytime you love her,
You become more,
More than she showed you,
The one before.
Everytime you’re her mother, the litte one,
You’re already something yours won’t become.
And the little one is happy, and she loves you.
You love her, and I love you.
We’ll hold you and help you until you say:
“It’s not my fault. I’m not to blame.”