Poetry and Prose?

Originally Posted: 9/11/07

Overlord"

Come to me, children of Azeroth
Come to me, children of Krynn
Elves and Dwarves, Ogres and Men
All alight in prophecy
My allies, my friends
Your dreams will come true
Come to my side
I will destroy you.

A being of rage, his sword lifted high, will cleanse the world with fire. Scarlet rivers drip from his steel and the leering dark is his guide. He pushes his way, from battle to battle, slaughtering all in his path. The blessed one will arise, my friends, arise in the time of contentment. The worlds of fantasy are linked, evermore, and through them he will wage his war. Sating his bloodthirst on the wretches and nobles alike. He is ever lasting, ever young. Immortal, immoral, all powerful. Even Christ will tremble in His shadow.

"Lovesick"

She waxes and wanes
Like Luna
High in the pale winter sky
Glimpses and shadows
She is my dream
A lover, sans vestiture
Laid out before me
I am sworn to She
And none other
From my birth
The ancient song
In my heart, alive
She is destined as mine
By the Gods, I am bereft
Fate has stricken me blind
I swear and I swoon
Lovesick.

Swearing fealty to this Lady, this girl of dreams and visions. This is the source of His power. The same thing who wields blade and death across realms of elves and men? Nay, not He. His is a story of sorrow and loss, a story of heroism long forgotten. Perhaps, for a time, they were the same but no longer. He searches, endlessly, for reasons the Gods have stricken him from Her, why they have sent Him such grief. Endlessly, He wanders. Alone, He sings out Her name.

"Aftermath"

Lucy in the sky
With hand grenades
No more swan-song
Serenades
The wooded lands
Burned to ash
The hills awash
In blood
My home, my friends
Lay dying or dead
This is my life
This is my story.

The pale winter, the summer of such vivid splendor, the autumn ablaze in color, the spring alive with sound. Seasons of war and tempest, seasons of wanting and loss. The very air is still, no cries of birds or children. The carrion feast subdued. He looks out over the battlefield and closes His eyes to the tears. Perhaps someday He will return, but not likely. There is nothing more for Him here.

The Scar Rider