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Yrolg

Yrolg

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That truth be told, and err unfold, ne’er true had so mine head,
Been bent to way, and seen to say, and been o’er me tread,
Such callous plight, what through the night, and ‘tis an enur’s feast,
That family ties, and supple lies, and taming* of the beast,
Could O! So wring, from youth’s cold spring, precision of this sort,
My omens tide, woe be aside, when hearing the report.
But man cares not, for what is rot, in lands of Hann A’Lee?
Whence magic came, and dragons’ bane, rest in her, o’er the sea.
Zalyttera shown, what’* little known, in miens of these, my peers,
That man’s true eyes, indeed his guise, hath fallen from his ears.
Social chatter, all the latter, of this kingdom’s fall;
The end of men, how great it** been, in life, knowing you all.
For in the limelight, he’d had of fright, truly epic fights;
In the deep caves, fighting his raves, long into the night.
Goals held true, termed in long fore he lasted to the end,
And social was he, twixt the very making of his friend.
‘Gainst spirits, foes, and ravaged lows, fought fast before the men,
Before men, and ghosts, and with great toast, himself an energumen.

06-Apr-2008 01:08:01 - Last edited on 07-Feb-2009 16:22:06 by Yrolg

Yrolg

Yrolg

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And in the greed, accompanied, by the riches, fame, and love,
There came about, with so much clout, an ending from above.
For fickle are they, of whom I say, naught save that they are the gods,
Against him so set, not to him let, changing to their rods;
When greatest sin, had come to him, and wishes laid to hem,
Had overwhelmed the e’er small realm, commanding he to them.
For in their den, there had so been, a case as this before,
With man proclaiming, himself naming, greater than the lore,
Gods not be right, said with contrite, and laid upon their feet,
Demands of woods, and clergied goods, from out from in the sky,
Never once, in all their dunce, asking of them why;
Why wreak hell, and thereby tell, our greetings to Her Grace,
Why demand, implant quicksand, into the human race?
Indeed in might, perhaps of fright, the gods returned their queue,
With detailed words, sent via birds of heavens bold and true:
Why ask**h thee, from ye’ to me, of such a pointless task?
Our efforts failed, when such was taled, when you in yourself bask.
You are men, brought forth again, in order to remain,
Lesser than we, and as that be, staying under rain.

06-Apr-2008 01:08:02 - Last edited on 07-Feb-2009 16:24:10 by Yrolg

Yrolg

Yrolg

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What’s Come to Pass

One summer’s eve, so long ago,
That sitting here I do not know,
If what I’m here about to show,
Corresponds with my old vow.
Waving this and little more.
Lost happiness out at the faro,
Which wane like my closest sorrow,
Who I have the need to borrow,
Saving such things from the morrow;
Doing this within my bore.
Gazing out upon the main there,
Tasting salt within the sea’s air,
Waiting in this same old house where,
First I hear the news I here share;
Given to my heart so sore.
She, the love I had so long sought,
To me it was then and there taught,
Would not be with my love then bought.
That catch of the sea I had caught,
Would be memories of yore.
To me, the news was to be said,
Laying there within my cold bed,
The life that my love had so led,
Ended now! For she was then dead;
Her life but the things of lore.
At the altar in her white dress,
To me pledging her oath of yes,
For eternity and no less,
Now in my heart but a distress,
For ‘twould happen nevermore.
There in heaven, she would be well,
While on earth in this place I dwell,
Truly knowing what would be hell,
Never able to my love tell:
I do, sweet, forevermore.

06-Apr-2008 01:11:13 - Last edited on 07-Feb-2009 16:23:25 by Yrolg

Yrolg

Yrolg

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In the beginning, there was war; A raving fire, deep within the souls of its practitionary, slowly devouring the precious little light which dared entrance to the land. Deep fires, horrific disasters, and pandemic genocide roared throughout the world, eradicating hope, and transfiguring the little love in existence into a love of one thing: Destruction.
The armies, despite their differences, were united under a single cause: to destroy all others.
Sarpel, daughter of Osra, embraced the hate, the death, the destruction, and continued the pathogenesis of the realm; further acerbating the will of all, empowering the great deity of death, and continuing the cause of the es***gleriesque armies.
Then, upon the cessation of bodies to kill, and upon the complete decimation of all armies, with no clear party triumphant, there was darkness, imperturbable in the wake of impetuous sacrifices to the vice realm of death.
The darkness was complete: a final victor over mind, body, realm, and heart. With it, in its somber totality, the world changed from war to such war*s sinister affections: death, decay, and destruction.
The melancholy devices of such darkness spawned, leaving the world the second of affectual evils.
In the beginning there was war; in the end there was darkness; in the middle, the human race.

06-Apr-2008 01:11:13 - Last edited on 07-Feb-2009 16:28:32 by Yrolg

Yrolg

Yrolg

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The vermillion scent of the trees in late Autumn is one of the most cherished memories I have. As I sit here, deep within the journey of my life, fast sinking to the fate of inevitability, I know that this, being present within the immeasurable beauty which is A’Raitn, should be the ending fate for all beings: the bliss, the quiet, the sheer pulchritude of it surpasses even the most vivid fancies of man.
Were the gods to bless me with the choice as to where and when I should pass on to their world, I should be forced to choose—hardly with a thought at all to extraneous places—this moment, right now, in time. Indeed they have given me such a choice, and here, and now, I venture onwards.

06-Apr-2008 01:11:14 - Last edited on 08-Jun-2009 23:54:27 by Yrolg

Yrolg

Yrolg

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It has been an eternity since last I heard the sweet melodic call of your voice, to wake me in your warm embrace. Looking back upon what must have been perpetuity passing, I am still led to wonder how it is that I have managed to live without you. How amazing it is that after such an eternity separate from your comforting embrace, that I still am able to summon forth your image, in my winding voyage. From the sheer beauty of the aspens – how their vermillion foliage reminds me of our autumn voyages—to the beryl sky, so entrancing, as your eyes.
I cannot help but wonder, as I watch the wisps of wind whip at this lake, how you are, my love. For even now, as I write of this beautiful sky, I see approaching a tempest.
There is not a day which passes in which I do not wish you here to comfort me. Even now, as I am enveloped by the zephyrs, long lost to their primordial duty, I wish to be with you.
I hear the thunderclap, o’er my head, and I recall the endless joy and laughter we shared. I see the great bolts of lightning as they raze the beauteous sky, and I see your smile. I feel the water surround me, as I fall through its pristine surface, and I again feel your warm embrace.

06-Apr-2008 01:11:15 - Last edited on 08-Jun-2009 23:55:35 by Yrolg

Yrolg

Yrolg

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Substance
Upon the boughs of my soul’s tree
There kindly sits a memory
Inclined to state forevermore
The pain through which I’ve gone before.
It taunts with letters on its face
As long as time and wide as space
That spell a scene of hurt and pain
And sing a song of my love’s bane:
“A rose there sat on here, one day,
But ‘twas not long fore‘t wither’d way
And in that red-hued flower’s stead
There lay a love: forgotten, dead.
Upon its stem a wreath of black
Betrayed what memories do lack."

06-Apr-2008 01:11:20 - Last edited on 20-Feb-2010 21:25:08 by Yrolg

Yrolg

Yrolg

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Autumn
If perchance your eye strays,
And of our leaves you note,
That on the golden sun’s rays,
There rides in as a boat,
A caravan of promised goods
Brought forth to these forgotten woods,
You’ll see a scene of orange and red,
No strokes of brown and green,
And plants that hope to soon be dead,
Within this forlorn scene.
For though the chill of winter’s stare
Makes breezes blow in cold,
Though sunlight ventures here so rare,
And never now as bold,
Though the skies have ceased their crying,
And though we all shall soon be dead,
Though these woods of ours are dying,
We boldly wear our suits of red.

06-Apr-2008 01:11:21 - Last edited on 20-Feb-2010 21:25:24 by Yrolg

Yrolg

Yrolg

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The room was dark, its contents shrouded in the musky smell of forgotten memories. Of its two entries, one had ages of dust caked upon its hinges, its doorknob resembling more a key to a separate world than the simple brass instrument adorning an intricate mahogany door. Sitting but a few feet from a small marble table, and with curtains on either side, it was hidden away by the shadows of the long deserted abode. The terrazzo floor leading up to the decaying threshold was painted with an even layer of dirt and detritus that filled its styled holes. Though worn with use, the beautiful tile still recalled the glory of its former occupation. And it was with the vanity of this recollection that it bore the footsteps of an invisible man along the periphery of its domain.
When made, the footprints had blown the layers of dust upon the rest of the room, and disturbed the façade of perfection with which it would have otherwise been remembered. In their wake, they left marring scars of remembrance: an eternal token of the blemishes uncovered. They had stirred dust that had lain undisturbed upon the senescent room’s floor for centuries prior. And had any spectator the time and ability to gaze upon this unfortunate scene, so rampaged by the ravages of neglect and time, he should have seen that the vile aftermath of the footsteps’ path could not hope to compare to the great and putrid bundle of cloth at the base of the grime-covered window – a bundle which, every few seconds, would grow and shrink, and moan in agony.
But there was no spectator so privileged as to lay eyes upon this timeless scene. Instead, only the immortal eyes of the most patient beast gazed thereupon, its tail twitching as the sun began to set.

06-Apr-2008 01:12:39 - Last edited on 28-Apr-2010 21:35:26 by Yrolg

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