tcs_tonsils_ 2829 Share Posted August 31, 2022 THE HAESENI PAPYRUS: VOLUME ONE 5TH OF WZUVAR AG BYVCA, 441 E.S. NOTE: I have been writing poetry for over 30 years, and in that time, I had yet to seek out other poets and writers alike to learn from them as I have from the works of Feodor May and Van Jungingen. No longer. Over the last four years, I made it my task to get in contact with the vast literary artists of Haense so we might work in tandem together, publishing that which glorifies the name of poetry. To my joy, I have discovered very talented and gifted writers, which Haense should be thankful to have. Working diligently, we have strived to create poetry to be published to the Haeseni people so they might read and enjoy it. Therefore, the Haeseni Papyrus was created from the minds of those writers. I sincerely hope you find comfort and meaning in these words, as I have. -Borris Iver Kortrevich TABLE OF CONTENTS Poems I. Ode to Haense II. I Don’t Feel Anything Anymore III. Family IV. Why He Fights V. Godric Memoriam VI. Beside Brothers VII. The Prince’s Parable VIII. Rebellion IX. The Fall of an Enemy State Poems I. Ode to Haense In depth of the darkness we slumber, Inward our cards and warmth. Together, one in number Through sleet nor ice forlorn. With no hurried gait one hastens And no silence hark the horn. Great walls of blood red rings To whose many lives are sworn. The verdant valleys blooming Defiant in the snow, While our memory black still looming Of those fallen while we sow. No word of waste, nor slip of hand We vow to make Her great. Beneath our feet, our Motherland - To do as God dictate. ‘Neath burning wick our pale hands clasp To truth in soul and song Resolute we embrace our fate Our Lorraine still is strong. No plight forgotten, no post unmanned, We are to fight at Crown’s command. So let it come, so come what may, Face Death, our right-hand man. Haense, she holds our memories With heavy heart depart, Oh, sing me a sweet melody - I say unto the Lark. By His Lordship, Felyx Francys Colborn II. I Don’t Feel Anything Anymore What an odd experience it is. The feeling of nothing. Standing over the pit of what used to be a home, now an overgrown gravesite. Dressed up in a green evening gown, welcoming people to come take a look at the mess that once stood. A rickety old bridge hung from the trees that I used to climb as an act of defiance. If I fell from the tree back then I’d scrape a knee at most. maybe sprain an ankle. But now, if I fell from the bridge, I’d be welcomed to the graves. The lake our town was founded on now cascades down as a series of complex falls. If you listen closely enough you’ll hear the sound of bombs. Listen in even closer and you’ll hear my father screaming from a cave, trying to convince my brother not to light the fuse. My home, my country, wasn’t perfect. None of them are. By Firress, Ipera Antionette Ashford de Falstaff III. Family The soft, cool air enveloping me, The cold surrounded, making me a little numb, Though despite this cold, something brought me a little glee, The warmth inside me, not caused by alcohol nor rum, The feeling within me, one that made me feel rather free, This reasoning inside me that brings no reason to be glum, The bloodless feeling of family, That brings me joy like a guitar’s strum. By Firr, Euleriphis IV. Why He Fights A forlorn boy, trudges off to war- His head dips down, thinking he will drown- He has nothing for which to fight- So he marches to die. The boy raises his sword- His muscles strain, blood stains- He does not know for what he fights- He is to die in vain. A battered boy, sunken low- His body shook, fear took- He knows not for what he fights- So he will now die. The king took pity on a deprived child- Rushes to give aid, bravery displayed- The man knows why he fights- So he did not let him die. This redeemed boy rests- His body taught, safely caught- There is nothing left to fight- But he will not die. Now that grown boy works- His muscles strong, endurance long- He knows for what he fights- So He will not die. A courageous man marches off to war- His head raised high, eyes to the sky- Never unsure for what he now fights- So He will not let his kingdom die. By His Lordship, Borris Iver Kortrevich V. Godric Memoriam ‘Twixt glades and leaves we wait. O, the hurried games we play. So far from home and yet so late - The hour is nigh too great. Before we start, his striding gait, The mind that never falters. No kin, nor man, nor God forsake He stands, before: unaltered. Nature has walked her course And no lips shall stay elated. With games of tag in hedges deep Life has no pace dictated. Bow in hand, and fishing rod, We practice in the sand. To start a journey, oh so slow One’s childhood doth disband. Recourse runs deep, no help to sleep, A tribute nigh melodic Of words goodbye and sand drifts by, Love attribute: my Dear, Great Godric By His Lordship, Felyx Francys Colborn VI. Beside Brothers Crows above and Brothers below, Surety and safety as fruit of their will. Might found in a black and golden glow, Protecting all with lance and crowbill. Shielding the visage of the Queen of Queens, Lady Haense herself do they preserve. Pity the poor soul who intervenes, For surely they shall receive what is deserved. Glorious are they upon the foothill, Sword and shield lofted toward the skies, Strength and valor do they instill, Into even the unwise. By Her Royal Highness, Klara Elizaveta Barbanov VII. The Prince’s Parable Hojik iv ve sunerise ain heerzen triek va lanzi uken oeer. Poch iv ve hag lapae laangaskervar dailyo broth. Zalibask kömea drazativsk, ludr zwyen eo waz usaer loevarev. Ea loemar waz drazativsk dlum ve nashej hag Voez ter drazativsk dlum vasr auwen wiehr hag. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Early in the morning a noble stirred from bed. Later in the day he ate his daily bread. Work could wait, or that is what they say. I say what waits for one day Does not wait for just one more day. By Firr, Hieromar of Karosgrad VIII. Rebellion The rhapsody of rebellion isn’t as comforting When the freedom turns into captivity. More humble is the one that is able to look Rebellion in the eye and tell her no, leave her to wilt. Powerful is the rebel who pulls back from the crossfire with Their dignity intact, jewels placed precisely in each Crease of their smile-line. As faulted humans do, they will stumble, wishing for Their own demise before someone else can bring It upon them. But that is not the rebel, that is the coward. Powerless is the coward who hides. By Firress, Ipera Antionette Ashford de Falstaff IX. The Fall of an Enemy State Forsaken as their blood ran cold, They rest upon bitter earth, All lay here dying, too many, dearth. Disregarded like those of old. Pooled blood covers the floor, Fools lost in unrighteous ire. Consumed by an undignified fire. Dispersed as the dead men of yore. For only God they thought they fought, These looming doomed souls. Moved to fill in the holes. Yet hope they had but naught. What good do the odes hold now? What blessed song could save them? What blissful story could deliver them? They are at the end, to death they bow. See the once proud people abandon them, Their faith dropped so low, It would deal a fatal blow, Poison seeped into the stem. With cracked foundation they’ve fallen, Eyes were set upon the skies, But all they found were lies. Their lives soon to be forgotten. By His Lordship, Borris Iver Kortrevich SIGNED, Her Royal Highness, Klara Elizaveta Barbanov His Lordship, Borris Iver Kortrevich, KML His Lordship, Felyx Francys Colborn Firress, Ipera Ashford de Falstaff Firr, Euleriphis of Karosgrad Firr, Hieromar of Karosgrad Spoiler We are always looking for more poets and writers to join us for the next volume! This project has been really fun to work on and the people are amazing. If you wish to join, please dm me on discord at Alamo#2895 7 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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