Reverence of War: A Poetic Publishing

[Frostdrop1 871]

Reverence of War

 

To the masses who endorse and take respite in the artistry of words, herein lies the thoughts and passings of what is otherwise a lost soul. Although the time of war has since passed, it readily consumed the innocence of my childhood - or, perhaps, that was left to some wayside long ago. 

 

Regardless of such ideals and musings, here is published my two finished war-works - Covenant versus the scourge of Veletz and Stassion - to make of what you will. Now these times, my thoughts, inner self and emotions have moved to linger upon another topic that I shall see drawn to its conclusion by one course of action or another.

 

Our Peace has No Sorrow

 

What do you do with a lecherous rat,

Lusting and grasping and pulling for more,

All is comfy until it sees the cat,

Down then comes the lair as all have before.

Where there is one it is seldom alone,

Swamped by avaricious, black-cladded souls,

A dire core of corruption crumbles a throne:

Retribution for the hurt to console.

Lo, Death does act swift and Death can act just,

Who imprints on our holy souls: embossed,

Lo, Death is cruel and Death we distrust,

Shall I shed false tears for all that is lost?

    No. Hand in hand, let us see tomorrow!

    To me hold tight; our peace has no sorrow.

 

March of the Liqour’d

 

A party of trouble o’er in Veletz,

   One man was tipsy on whiskey,

He cried ‘Damn it - down with ‘em, Lads!’

   And out they sallied for kingsey!

 

Merry was Valdev, life founded anew,

  Carrion flowed as melody,

Festive and lively all gleeful were they,

  And they danced for kingsey!

 

Down in the desert, orcs weighted their clubs,

   One man cried plea,

Red in the face; loud they laughed:

   ‘What you want, pinkie?’

 

Hooting his hollow, haughty howls:

   “What they lack is honesty:

Treason and strong-arming,

   Nothing of ours, we truly guarantee!”

 

TThe party of trouble was now of two,

    One man and one orc did cooee,

‘Come with us - down with ‘em, Lads!’

   And out they marched for kingsey!

 

Knock, knock! Was the sound of Orc,

    And of Man on elvish entry,

‘Open you knife-ears, we need of you now!’

   The armies called their lackey.

 

Out poked a head, pale and withdrawn,

   ‘Um, sorry are we,

As you can see,

   We are clearly busy!’ 

 

Without an ally, the group waddled on,

   To battle their enemy,

All donning their pig-iron a rattle ensues,

   So at Breakwater and Brasca they flee.

 

Westmark was won with glitz and with glam,

    But a war ought not be showy,

So Fortune was quick to turn on her heels,

    To those with austerity.

 

Hippo’s Gorge was a slaughter,

  And stassion was erased,

Drusco was taken with fervor,

  And Easworth was - empty!

 

Around a table men did sit,

   Their homes free of debris,

‘This is our peace!’ so sang they,

   And safely grinned kingsey.

 

Let old demons sleep where they lay in death, and let the future rise anew. With these publishings, I cast myself fully into my new purpose in justice.

 

Krusae zwy kongzem; Va ve Maan