Poetry: An Exerpt

I was hesitant to post this, because it’s very much a work in progress, but I thought that if I don’t get it online now, I never will. Below is a very tentative venture into the world of poetry, inspired by Tolkien and ancient epics. I have no idea what your reaction to this will be, but I hope that you’ll enjoy this other side to my writing. Remember, it’s a work in progress!

Excerpt from the Lumnariad:

LUMNARËA

A dark stain spread across the barren land south-west,

A mighty roar rose up to Athanai’s Heaven.

The heroes of old turned their faces from the noise,

As the agents of destruction prepared for war.

Swift-footed, a silver eyed man came to warn us.

He went by the ancient name of Lumnarëa,

For he was the bringer of the news of pain and death.

Selfless, he would die just to bring us that message.

Through the Forest of the Night, he fled as the wind,

But a sharp eyed monster spied his hasty passage.

Black-feathered arrow caught his unprotected side;

I heard his dreadful message, then watched as he died.

ANAI-ARËA (A WARNING)

 

In the south there dwells a foe,

The darkness is his blood.

He hates with hate millennia old,

His wrath is like a flood.

Fear his claws you helpless men,

Fear his coming rage.

Fear the evil that lurks inside him

And mourn the passing age.

THE SPEECH OF KYRVALA

He looked at me with eyes of silver

And dark skies boiled overhead.

The trees around us cracked and trembled;

The blood ran from his wound so red.

Pain was in his glazed expression

And beads of sweat upon his brow.

His laboured breathing rasped and grated,

As he lay there on the ground.

“My friend,” said he, in strainéd voice,

“Tell them to beware the coming storm,

Tell them to prepare for war,

Tell them to take up their swords.”

“What of you, the chosen herald?”

Asked I, horror holding fast my soul,

“I go now from whence I came,

To heroes and to sons of old.”

“Can none now help us in our troubles?”

Asked I, the task becoming clear.

“No,” said he, “The dead are gone.

You must make the living hear.”

The light then faded from his eyes,

His body broken on the earth.

Cradling him as my tears flowed down,

I knew I had to prove my worth.

Listen close, ye hardened souls,

Listen now or die alone!

Lightning strikes and thunder breaks:

You cannot fight it on your own.

Our army must prepare for war,

We must take up both sword and shield,

We cannot hide behind our walls,

And we must never fall or yield.

They will come with flame and dark.

They will prey upon our souls.

They rip and shred and bite.

They will drag us to their holes.

Our hearts cannot be ruled by fear –

We cannot quake or turn away.

We must gird our spirits with steel.

We must await that curséd day.

Hark! You men, you sons of God,

Hark and let your fury rise!

The storm may tear apart our town,

But it will never take our lives.

Listen close, ye hardened souls,

Listen now or die alone!

Lightning strikes and thunder breaks,

You cannot fight it on your own.

So there you have it, a small portion of a growing work. Don’t hesitate to give feedback if you feel inclined.

4 Comments Add yours

  1. Mephistopholes says:

    Inspired by heathen texts.

    1. bengarry says:

      Would you care to elaborate on that comment?

  2. everexistent says:

    This is what I was talking about when I said I admire your writing! Amazing.

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