My Epic - Work in Process

[Pete]

Now I will post the first cycle of my epic poem. It is written in a structure similar to the dialectic, and as I add new cycles (I working on my thrid) you should be able to see what I am getting at with it.

Cycle One

I

"A shimmering glow radiates over the city,
Lights shining from one hundred spires.
Glaring through a masked fog,
Smoke rises from burnt temples."

'Father, the sky is alight with flames.'
A young man, barely a man, but a sharp man,
Built in the werckage of Ladark
On the eve of the new age;
Li Ni'ya, son of Ra, son of Si.

'Li, your mock ignorance amuses me.
The Stars of the Heavens fall with vengeance:
We have been betrayed;
We are expected to die in puddles.'
An old man, barely an aged man, but a creul man,
Built at the dawn of Ladark,
On the eve of Mercy's final feast;
Ra Ni'ya, son of Si, son of Li.

'Our house is strong, father,
Blessed are the Falanians!
Holy is Falania!
Father, why are we punished if we stand in the Light?'
A questioning look, deep into the truth.

'Those that are of a weaker stock,
The ravaging hands of twilight:
They do not stand fully in the Light.
A hoarse revenge for harbouring them, this is.'

Spirit shattering screams echo in the falling light;
Crosses borne of despair and strife
Lay shattered all around-
A bloody hand reaches for the pedestal.

The Earth violent shakes,
Two struggle to stand.
Forces of heathed dominion scream,
Blasting the Great House Ni'ya on its land.

'Father! Flames lick our House!'
A boy, indoctrined like the rest,
Fighting to understand the motives all around.
The room flashes bright, and he falls:
Blood stains his pure white robes;
He has a father no more.

Light fades over a weeping body.
Fighters combat the buring tempers,
That of fire, that of son.
An iron rage is instilled
The honour of one House is lessened,
Balance demands vengence;
Blood begets blood.

'Grief of a father is not done in the dark, child.'
An ancient man, barely a living man, yet a holy man,
Built under the pillars of Ni'jal,
On the eve of his own father's murder;
Mazr'im, successor of the Light.

'Messya! Has the Dark taken rule already?
I cannot tell; my eyes are the haven for tears.
The moon dlares through the window already!
Close it! Messya, Save my father's soul!'
The silver coin that hands in the sky
Steals the life force of this world

'Child, it is as you wish.
The Light demands a feast of honour now!
Vengenance may wait, but remember this:
Let it begin with the cowards who summoned flames-
Heathens that live in the night!'

Slowly a sick smile turns,
Encompassing a wounded son,
Devouring him with thoughts of murder.
'The Great House Ni'ya stands in the Light.
Those who don't bend knee to my crown,
Will be put to the blade!'

From the Houses of Ladark nobles do come-
Not one dares step in the dark;
The lords stand in the Light.
Through tunnels they father at the somber palace,
Brining food and drink and brides for their new king.

Standing tall in front of the ancient throne,
Li Ni'ya, son of Ra, son of Si,
Takes the golden goblet broth to him
By Mazr'im, Protector of the Grail.
Sipping the crimson liquid, Li smiles.
"I drink my father's blood! Let us eat in his joy!'

Lights defy the night,
Lights buring int he sky-
Near and far from the silver gilded House,
With its succession now passed down.

In the streets the Nordya freeze,
Huddled together for safetly from the strike;
Starving in pain as the palace feasts,
Flames fall endlessly from the sky-
Lardark is ravaged into the night.

II

Standing among his brothers' bodies-
Not related by blood, but by strife-
Sidrok, urchin of Lardark, weeps.
Tears mingle in the scarlet street,
Nordya die for the nobles' war.

'Mother Dark, hear me now!
Father Light, hear me now!
I, Falanian, child of the heavens do sing:
Silence of Hell is not an answer.
Mother, Father, why do we die for the lords's folly?
Their regejection of you, Mother, hurts the Nordya;
Yet it is we who feel your revenge!'

Sidrok is echoed by the family Nordya;
The people of twilight, the crowned silence.
Ladark burns as they struggle to sleep,
While overhead a shower of death falls:
Ladark turns to rubble.

Refugees filter out of through secret doors,
The City gates have been blocked,
For the greed of the nobles' selfish needs.
The family Nordya is forced to cry on the street-
In the flames of injustice the Great Lord now feasts.

Falania is braced against an enemy:
One which it has called forth-
The aristocracy sits in Ladark,
Killing the rags by its own hand.

'Oh! Why do we pay in crimson tears?'
Sidrok strolls in a filthy alleyway
Behind him lurks on of the Royal Guard
A baton rises and falls in silence
The Nordya collapses in his fears.

'Dirty heathen, don't speak such of your betters!'
Blood stains the bulky woman's club;
She wields a sheathed blade as well.
Hired to keep the pease;
Hired to chain freedom.

Fire streaks through the sky
Hailing fire into the city
No one attempts to fight this enemy.
Night has fallen, the nobles are eating-
The Nordya die in flames.

Hours pass, the man awakens:
Stars fill his sad eyes.
Shaking a shaggy head over a heavy heart,
The sun dances on the scorched horizon,
Sending lights of death across the sky.

'A morn to you mate; nasy bump!'
Miranada stands in simple rags,
A tattoo of the sun entwined with the moon graces her arm;
Still silence radiates from her face.

Sidrok picks dried blood from his hair.
'The Sentry heard me weep,
Fire rain killed my clan.
Tears ruin the hour.'

A champagne filled cup sits silently
Today's unique tradition
Nordya family, bound by necessity.

III

Sleeping stalkers surround the walls,
Pacing in the days first shadows,
Creeping across with a lust for destruction.
Wolves howl from the hills;
Dogs, in the city, smell death-
Life is in vacancy here.

Creaking shadows are born today,
Dancing lights begin to play-
Nobles and Nordya crawl from their rubble:
A new dawn deserves a new song.

Bloods is spilt across the grounds-
One night of destruction, four hundred down.
Curses fall to the night guard;
The family and Houses alike weep their dark tears.

Years of prosperity end in strife
Grief filled people find resort
In hastily built towers of debris-
Monoligths of those who are dead.
Together Lardark is whole;
A league formed with blood,
Comabting their mutual murderes.

Flying high on the grim memorial,
A banner commemorating death:
The sun straddling the moon,
Gold devoured by silver;
Eteched into the bloody clothes of the dead.

Arms and heads and legs and rock
All mark the dying grounds.
Drifting slowly morning again becomes night,
As flames fall from the sky.

[chamo]

Holy shit man! This isn't just a poem, it's a book. How much do you plan to write?

Keep it up:)

[Pete]

I think with my vision for how it will end, maybe a thousand pages.

[Purple]

Some of the best poetry Ive read in a long time. Most people(like me) just write poetry without any clue how to build it up, but you do it with skills, class and style:cool: ... Great stuff. I dont get how you do it...

Keep it up!

[Iron Star]

You should publish this when your finished.

[Pete]

I have 6 cycles written, so here is number 2

Cycle II

IV

War brews on the horizon;
Great Houses host great filth.
The Kings of men with the Kings of vermn:
Between the Blood and the Nordya a false bond is sealed.

'I Li Ni'ya, Patron of Ladark,
Guardian of the Sun's Temple,
Do speak:

'Holy is this hour,
Holy is Falania!
As Father fades in the face of the coin,
With my cousin I sign a new age.
Mirkas of Nordya, I of the Houses,
End the strife to fight against a common knife
So delicately poised at our throats!'

Ceremonially a ragged man bows,
Dagger in hand, he slits his palm,
Dripping blood to the soiled cup:
Last night's sorrow, this nights hope.

'And yer banner we fly sah!
Cus' its not wat wes fear.
The Nordya styand an' fight!
The Hyoose styand an' fight!
Darknysh wes no fear!'

Crowds fill the hall as a feast is served,
The first food in weeks for some,
As grim nobles plot with swords.
One belly is filled, many lives are destroyed.

Li Ni'ya takes his leave.
A fthater's honour, he assures,
Deserves the prayer of a son.

Light dims, noise fades,
Yet the house remains full.
The Great Lord runs down abandoned corriodors,
Bursting through shattered doors,
With tears flowing down his face.
Li Ni'ya screams-

'It is done, Father!
The ragged destruction of your will
On the day after your fall.
Mysterious banners in the city;
Darkness gathers...'

Silence.
Horrible silence.

'Forth night presenting the dawn
On a bow shall break a bloody song.
Knives stab the linen sheets,
Floods of crimson tides will fill the streets.'

Whispers through grief,
So silent the burdened man hears none.
Tonight the Prophecy has been spoken
The word of kings broken.

'Li Ni'ya!
Stand in the Light!'

Silence devoured in pain-
Mazr'im, successor of the Light, walks forward,
His face smooth, without concern.

'Child, the night falls,
Yet you weep in a pile.
Stand and honour your fater!
Tradition demands in!'

A snap-
The teared Lord rises.
Shattered calm rages across the rooms,
Once so pious, now corrupted.
An old man steps on the fragile grounds.

'The traditions of ages, child,
Are not to be betrayed.'

'yes Messya!
I stand in the Light.
The Nordya, they feast in my halls-
Have them vanquished!'

Blood spilt on the day after-
Tradition saftisfied.
But a king's honour demoands more:
Fire springs from the sky,
Reminding a song who must die.

'Messya, I swear it,
The devourers of our lush peace,
They are my enemy.
Burn their souls in darkness!'

Muffled tears,
Followed by silence.
Sickening silence.

V

Draped in well worn cloaks,
Faces veiled from the flames;
Death grips this night.

Sidrok looks to a motar wall,
Mumbling of deeds long lost,
Of freedoms guaranteed-
And the chains that enforce them.

Wrapped in a torn dress,
Eyes dancing to each pillar;
ASouls scream from their core.

Miranda glances at the emblem;
An ancient symbol of Falania,
Long forgotten by the Blood-
Those who summoned this Hell.

Dressed in rags, six more stand,
A pointed circle in the darkness.
Night and day united in one-
Golden silver lines their eyes.

Murmurs rise and fall from the group,
Protected from the Watch by family-
The Nordya is one; together they are strong.

'They made a truce with old Mirkas of the Counties,
Barely one of the Nine, he was.
Those who followed him where fattened for slaughter:
Bastard Ni'ya had those who didn't run
Lining the Royal Wall.'

'Yet Mirkas lives still,
Holed up in the Temple of Light-
Fearing the Family's wrathful knife.'

'Only a fool trusts a House;
The greater the House, the greater the folly.
Fires swell fromt he sky because of them:
And blood stains there hands.'

'The House contracted a fool.
On this night Mirkas is a king of rats;
When he returns to the Nordya this will change.
The old man will be a feast for vermin.'

Miranda and Sidrok, standing silent,
Break their peace slowly.
She speaks:

'Falania is falling apart.
The Houses seek our death,
To save our land,
To save our people,
We must fight the Houses.'

'Miranda speaks true, cousins.
Our knives need not be sheathed,
Only united as one in our enemies throat.
The Counce of Nine is now Eight;
Miraks, the ragged fool slit the peoples' throats
His followers feed vultures now.
At dawn, eight becomes a million.'

Solemn agreements based on the code,
Each speaking for one, and speaking for all-
Twisted steel is drawn and pulnged deep into the night;
The silent champagne cap is emptied.

VI

Sipping on the sorrows of yesterday-
A new dawn, a new blade, a time to play;
Just sipping on the sorrows of yesterday-
With a new dawn, a new blade, it's time to play.
Walking around the winding roads,
Stepping over the bloody rows.
Silence boils in their gut-
The dark eye begins to shut.
Frequenting lives long lost,
Slowly accumalating in the dusk.
Dark clouds rising overhead-
A flash of steel, some Guards drops dead.
Forks surge forward in rage,
Striking like a lion released from its cage-
The forces shake the ground,
Muting screams all around.
Apart from life; Apart from death,
Standing defiantly on the King's steps
A shattered whisper fills the air-
Eyes locked forward towards the stairs.
A knife protrudes from a chest-
One blade, one lust, this display isn't a jest;
Black earth touched by crimson gold
Limp bodies make spirits burn cold.
Forcefully slashing down
A new rage seeps through town:
Sacraficing a day old creed,
Burning violence begins to feed.
Old dreams, new lies, fire falls from the skies,
Fears rise up as death rains from ahigh.
With tortured shouts this dance is over;
Cloaked daggers, flee returning to their cover.
Amid this round of civil death,
A baby wakes and takes its first breath-
Only to see its mother die-
This babe has no time to cry.
Sipping on the sorrows of yesterday-
A new dawn, a new blade, a time to play;
Just sipping on the sorrows of yesterday-
With a new dawn, a new blade, it's time to play.

[AnarchoApocrypha]

Ugh, and then it ended...
Please, for the love of all good and evil, add more.
Crying I am, for more I need.

Yeah, please, don't let this epic die...

[Pete]

Well it is currently 50 pages long, 11 cycles and what the hell I will give up one more cycle.

Cycle 3

VII

Around the Palace Ni'ya,
In the centre of burning Ladark,
Lay the bodies of the riot.

Torn by the raging mob,
As it surged and retreated,
Destroying all in its path,
Life and civilization have ceased.

'Death, child, marks your path'
The voice of Mazr'im, Protector of the Crown, scatters vultures
Looking from the mess Li Ni'ya sighs.
His father's honour demands more blood.

Speaking slowly, he stares to the sky:
'Let it rain, Messya, let it rain.
From the cerulean temple scarlet drops shall fall.
In his honour!
The ground shall shake beneath the chaos,
As it rises to devour all of the Mother's curse.
Oh Messya, let it rain!'

Deep clouds cast over the city,
Blessing it with no new blazes.
Hell dares not fall when it cannot see.
Yet even this simple pleasure is diluted.

Surveying the ground far below,
Li Ni'ya sees the reapers hand.
Along his walls hang those who feasted,
Those who did not flee,
On the road lay those who protested-
Lying dead in their tracks.

A swelling depression shakes the man,
Letting out a tortured scream he collapses.
'Distrust is what I receive-
Why?
I give you filth life!
Death is too good for the Nordya!'

'Child, settle, words corrupt you.
Let the past night be a story,
Your will was forced.
No, today, bless them with your blade.'

Mazr'im, Adviser to the Crown,
Calm face radiating stony comfort.
His eyes wander to a gilded prison,
Where Mirkas Nordya is chained.
Following his glance, tame Li stares.
A blade of fire rages in his soul,
Limply he stands.

'Messya, you are beyond mistake.
Now, let the Father's grace bless my word!
From this moment all Nordya who stay uncraddled in the night,
Let them burn at the crossings upon dawn's arrival-
For the worship of the Dark is a sin,
And sin is death.'

VIII

Struggling back to their hovels,
Most bloodied, all humbled.
The Nordya are washed with tears
Dripping down their dirty faces.

At the meeting grounds four huddle close,
Of the Eight now only these remain.
Each bearing a scar of the battle,
None standing without support.

'Upon this night we are decimated.
Once standing as the Nine,
We who live, live free that is,
Are four.
Our brothers and sisters have fallen,
Buried in the mud of Ladark.
Standing for our rights,
The Nordya have bled.'

All look at Sidrok as he speaks,
Blood drips from his sliced chin,
Yet he does not weep.
Standing strong he speaks for all.

As the night of death awakens to a new morning,
The Council of Four do still confer:
Of traitor Mirkas, of bastard Ni'ya,
Most of all of prophecy.

It beckons a betrayal,
All agree that this is Mirkas,
The fool of the Counties.

'His action must be met with death!
I will slip poison to his drink,
Slit this throat as he sleeps,
Anything to end his corrupted existence!'

The four disagree on this issue.
Where and how should his blood fall?
This is a division of the daggers.

'Silamon, you speak with valour,
But look at the tears our last stand has caused.
How many will die if the Houses sense our threat?
I, Miranda, stand against this.'

Sidrok stands beside Miranda,
Silamon and Tomas against.
A line is drawn in the sand,
But the tide quickly washes it away.

A debate arises as more of the family gather.
Through the centre of communities,
Into the heart of the trial,
The division does run.
Slowly the clouds break and the fire rains,
Though the Father lusts for slumber.

As twilight shrouds the land
A consensus is formed.
The Nordya will neither act nor stand still.
On the Fourth Dawn they shall rise,
To vanquish those who rain fire from the sky.
The battle is directed to the heart of the Houses.

It is necessity that binds the Nordya strong.
In the night they pass the word.

IX

The declaration of the Great House
Is followed in the night.
Four children found playing
Now stand alight.

As the law spreads through Ladark,
The invisible enemy kills from the sky.
By the fire of the Guard, fire of Hell,
Ladark burns.

Seeing cells of resistance form,
Sentries ignite more souls.

At the crossings, tortured bodies glow.
Tomorrow they will be food for crows,
Yet tonight they haunt the living.

From the Council the word is still passed,
Messengers avoid the barbarian patrols,
And live another night.

The silver coin opens her eye,
From the heavens fire still falls,
The screaming pyres try to crawl
Away from the flames,
Those that devour them,
And the fire of descending death
That now destroys them.

Stars awake in the sky,
Reaching for the brilliance marking the city.
Flames of Hell,
Flames of flesh.
Death is at home.

[Felicia]

yay, part three...... I was dying to see what was going to happen next!!!!! You tease :-P

[Eastside Revolt]

I don't know enough about poetry to give any kind of critisism.

[Pete]

This is from cycle 13. I just wrote it. Does it work?

XXXIX

Blood and steel and bone and flesh
Emotion skewed
Blood, slash, kick, scream
Ears do not hear
Nose does not smell
Eyes see blood.

Run, thrust, parry, swing
Rage controls movements
Banner still flies
Fight more.

Battle cry screamed
Blot shot eyes
Blood drenched clothes.

Skin pierced
No pain, just rage.

‘Forward! Rush forward!
Felix is swine!
For the Nordya!’

Said but not thought.
Pause.
Miranda surrounded.
Dash forward, blade striking.
Killing.
Death everywhere.

Keep fighting.
Miranda safe.
Fight side by side.

Banner man.
Cut down.
Trample Felix’s flag!

Sweat.
Blood.
Attack!

Enemy breaks.
Running away.
Victory!
Battle over.
Blood lust fades.

‘FOR THE NORDYA!
VICTORY!’

Eerie silence.


Edit: for a very stupid typo.

(Edited by CrazyPete at 5:08 pm on June 14, 2003)

[Felicia]

Yes, love it! :)

[Guardia Bolivariano]

Violence never sounded so poetic, romantic and fun. I think I'm gonna... *cries*

[Pete]

Bahahahahaha

Writing that gave me the worst headache!

[Nobody]

Good stuff, and pray tell, when will this literary gem come to "a bookstore near you". [Not being sarcastic, really!]

[Pete]

I dunno. Its not finished (I mean the last thing I wrote was canto XXXIX). It is no where near to being finished. And I am not published, which makes it hard to get published.

[Emmanual Goldstein]

Dante meets TS Eliot meets Walt Whitman meets Kahil Gibran meets... amazingness. I figured by your musical taste that you were smart... but JESUS CHRIST!!!

By the way, Godspeed You Black Emporer is fucking harsh.

[Pete]

God speed is amazing :) So is Mogwai, I am rather addicted to "Christmas Steps." Hey someone else that lieks this music YAH!!

I've read some Dante...a few canto before I got side tracked by books 5,6,7,8 of Wheel of Time, TS Eliot is fucking amazing. Walt Whitman? Who? Kahil Gibran? Who? :)

[Nobody]

Walt Whitman = Lengardary Poet.
CrazyPete = Walt Whitman = Good Thing
Put me on the list for your book, or make it all avilible on the web to members of Che-lives.

[Pete]

Just thought I'd drag this up again MWHAHAHAHAHA

The poem is done, the first 11 cycles typed, it is about 30 cycles in all....so thats 90 cantos of varying lengths. Here is Cycle Four... enjoy :)

Cycle Two got 'mods choice' at Elfwood, a popular fantasy art/literature place.

Cycle IV

X

The city rises in fear.
Beside the morbid pillars, with flags waving high,
Stand the charred pyres of the night.
With no pigs running around,
The smell of ham is foreign in this town.

Dawn shines brightly-
Fires fall from the sky.
During the night the Nordya burned,
Now all of Ladark cries.

Li Ni'ya breathes the crisp air,
Dressed in his regal blue,
He addresses the Houses:

'Our Justice is served in the night.
I am merciful. I am pure.
Li Ni'ya speaks to you now-
Of days to come, days long past!

'The reaction of our hand is fire,
Blessing the night with light.
In my Father's brilliant name I now pronounce
A new law, the oldest law,
A law revived by the flames!

'Dissent grows in the urchins-
This we know.
And those out past dark die-
This we have seen.

'Now a new ordinance is struck.
Dark showers fall from the sky,
The Nordya, they have summoned them forth!
I Li Ni'ya, crowned three days past,
Demand all newly wed girls of Nordya stock
To spend her first night in the nearest Lord's bed!'

All around the men eagerly grin,
This new law, old law,
Likened "Prima Nocta,"
Surely pleases them.
Li Ni'ya speaks:

'Mazr'im, Glory of the Light,
Has blessed this law with sacrifice.
Now, good Lords so must we.

'The first wed of each month must die,
As she, in your bed, does climax.
To satisfy the Light blood must spill!
Now, go forth and sleep well!'

Leaving the hall the perverted Houses chant,
Between grinning mouths and thoughtful minds:

'Blessed is Falania!
Blessed is Ladark!
Blessed is the Light!
Blessed is Li of the Great House Ni'ya!'

With a new law sealed
Li sheds his last innocence.
Behind him Mazr'im smiles,
Hands dark with blood;
During the speech Li's first wife bled.

XI

During the third dawn men weep,
By their side woman scream.
Children unaccustomed to death now sleep
In a slumber from which they cannot wake.

Traditions of old lie in shambles,
No longer can youth run at night
Collected the needs for the next day.
Now they die, and parents cry.

At each corner the vultures pray.
Picking roasted flesh from small bones,
As the Royal Guard laughs smugly.
Occasionally fire falls from the sky,
Weeping Nordya stay inside.

The homeless quickly find resort-
Helping hands unite the streets.
Those driven by the riot resettle
In new quarters of Ladark's ghettos.

Waking from a restless sleep,
Sidrok rises from his filth.
The smell of ham fills his nose,
Crushing his first smile deep into gloom.

Even this depression falls fast,
Word on the street makes lovers weep.
The Sentries walk on spreading the tale,
Those looking to marry turning quite pale.

'This is a law long past,
Three hundred years ago Na Si'va did repel
The murderous vision of legalized rape!
Now Bastard Ni'y-'

The speaker's rant is cut short,
Sidrok is flung to the ground.
From the sky death rains,
The speaker now screams out in pain.

Taking out his belt knife,
Sidrok pulls himself to his feet.
Shaking he walks to the crippled body,
Showing his blade to the now nodding man.
Sidrok leans over and slits the speaker's throat.

From behind Miranda approaches,
So silent Sidrok does not notice.

'Friend, do not weep.
The coup de grace is a cruel saviour:
Now he no longer feels the burning rage.
You saved his soul, friend, do not weep.'

Miranda, a true companion,
Holds Sidrok near as he screams.
On his hands lies the blood
Of a dead man saved by death.

Composure comes quickly as the bombardment continues,
Sidrok and Miranda step from the cratered square.
Slipping down tight alleyways,
They pass through the Guards patrols.

Resistance is organized;
The Nordya are quick to their feet.
Silently the living herd prepares for battle,
The Fourth Dawn will come soon.

Tomas stands before an assembly,
And of the archaic new law he does speak:

'To deny the Nobles this "right"
Is to sign your death papers.
On this crime of the Houses I do propose,
Using reality as my sole base,
All marriages be banned among the Nordya;
The family of House,
Which we have long embraced,
Discontinued.
This is my proposition.'

The gathering murmurs,
Eight hundred minds think.
And soon agreements are shouted.

'Let the horny nobles sleep with dogs!'
'Union of law corrupts our children!'
'Burn Bastard Ni'ya, may he die a virgin!'

With that the gathering is swiftly slaughtered.

XII

An arrow pierces a man in the heart,
Eight hundred orderly become a stampede.
Those slow to react are trampled in the exodus.

Down every ally the gathered flee
Directed arrows from all sides,
Retreating Nordya are pierced and fall.

Miranda and Sidrok jump aside,
Seeking cover behind an upturned wagon.
As the senseless death of their family unfolds,
Pain drifts into their souls.

Watching as countless die.
Fire falls from the sky.
Arrows press into exposed skin.
Screams come from all sides.

Eight hundred heard the proposition,
Three hundred live to spread the word.
On the third night, fifteen young girls are raped,
Then coldly murdered.

Standing on his balcony as maids clean his bed,
Li Ni'ya has a view of destruction.
At the crossings filth burns,
From the sky hate falls as rain.
With a grin crossing his face,
Li Ni'ya, son of Ra, son of Si,
Laughs the cackle of a demon.

[Xvall]

You're a damn genious. You know this? I'm printing this out to keep as a booklet.

[@[email protected]@]

hi, dear friender.
good,very good!

[Pete]

Here you go, numbers 5,6 and 7. 7 marks the end of the first part of the poem, entitled: The Rose of Ladark. There is a brief interlude and then Cantos 8 begins Part Two: The Crimson Tear. Number 7 shows my distate for leninism :o Enjoy

Cycle 5

XIII

From a hundred points
Death, in flames, smiles.
No longer may peace be kept.
The innocence has ended.

Compounded in his mind lies
Hate, anger, lust, fire.
The attackers are not his,
But the retribution against the Nordya,
And the weak nobles who let them live, is.

Behind him his maids have finished their cleaning.
Blood stained silk and corpse whisked away.

'The guard seem asleep upon the walls,
Their banners rise, then fall.'
Li Ni'ya stares at his city.
Questioning his protection.

Quickly doubt is swept away-
The Great House Ni'ya is supreme,
And one of the Nordya leaders,
The filth named Mirkas,
Is locked in his dampest cellar.

'Mirkas will be displayed on the morrow,
Hung by his own intestines.'

A sound of unified shouts wakes Li from his thoughts.
Looking around the dawn pierces the horizon,
And more fire begins to fall.

Shrugging he resumes his thoughts,
No one dares attack the Great Lord Ni'ya!

XIV

'It is as if the fountains flow blood.
Our daughters and sisters have bled.
And what do we do?'

Anger grows deep in Sidrok
Boiling over in his words.
Along the horizon the sun threatens to rise,
Giving birth to the Fourth Dawn.

Gathered in a small enclave,
The last moon shadows hide them from petty eyes,
That may seek their destruction.

Anticipation rises from the group’s bowels,
Twenty-seven strong-armed with blades,
Tempered by years of oppression,
Hate, rage, anger, destruction.

This is the new order.
Bound by necessity,
The Nordya stand-
Ready to reclaim their city!

'Light pierces the fog surrounding our town!
Flames of death, not of the Father.
Noble knives have pierced the sheets,
And we are the bloody song!

‘Let the Fourth Dawn rise!'

Cheers swell from Sidrok's corner,
One of the hundreds throughout the city.
Slowly the Father's grip touches the land.

XV

The horizon glows with light,
A golden ball rises with care-
Unleashing Hell onto Ladark.

From the sky fires fall.
Those on the ground do not flounder,
In Ladark no alliances stand.

Screams of retribution echo,
Joined by the Nordya's battle cry:
'For the Fourth Dawn!'

Sidrok charges from his cover
Followed by twenty-seven equals.
Across the city thousands rise up-
Crushing the Sentries where they stand.

Flames burst all around
Throwing the Nordya around like sand,
Yet they struggle forward in rage,
Striking at the heart of their enemy.

From gilded palaces organized forces march
To face their fate on the streets.
The retainers of nobles die,
Soaking the streets of Ladark deep red.
A crimson tide seems to flow,
As each golden fortress ignites.

New flames join the old.
One palace burns, now two, now five.
All the while the sky gives an unasked amnesty.

Running at the head of his column,
Sidrok's silver blade, now a steaming scarlet,
Cuts through the soft flesh
Of traitorous brothers and sisters
Dressed the uniform of the Royal Guard.

Slowly the surging forces stop,
Surveying the destruction around.
One lord's head stands upon a pike.
Soon two, now ten.

Victory is consolidated in the Nordya's hands.
Bloody as they are,
They all agree liberation is worth the price.


Cycle 6

XVI

Around each member of the Council of Nine,
In the night its numbers replenished,
Rally the Armies of the Nordya.

Sidrok wipes sweat away,
Feeling the cut across his face.
Looking confident and proud
He does speak:

'The Fourth Dawn has come and passed,
Now we relish in this day.
But beware!
Bastard Ni'ya safely sits,
Murdering your pillaged sisters.

'In the confusion of the fight he lay back,
Why? That is unsure,
Yet his palace, his dark castle,
Still stands strong, impregnable.'

A mixed mood flows all around,
Of the city all but House Ni'ya,
As well as the city gates,
Stand against the Nordya.

As the Sun makes his journey,
The Nine do assemble.
During the fighting,
Although they led,
Each avoided the traitorous blades.

Sidrok stands among them and speaks:
'Ladark is the Nordya's
But the King’s crown is not.
His presence stands over us in siege,
From the Royal Walls and the gates.
Until we melt Ni'ya's head piece down
We leave in fear.

‘As I speak battle rages,
And then sinks to cautious watching.
Li Ni'ya's, and Mazr’im's, forces still prowl.
The longer they last alive,
The longer the gates in their hands,
We stand inside their jaws!

'Because of this threat I do propose:
My self and Miranda prepare for a journey,
And through the secret gates leave
To rally the support of the Counties.'

Shouts of disagreement rise from the Nine.
'Mirkas's breed are our bane.
His knife was shown against the Nordya!
How can we trust his kind?'

To these challenges Sidrok declares:
'The family is whole,
The Houses in flames.
I have looked upon Ni'ya's walls.
There hangs Mirkas by his gut!'

A thoughtful silence engulfs the Nine.
Soon they reach a consensus.
Sidrok and Miranda are to leave,
For victories do not mean a thing if they do not last,
And seek the support of the Counties.

XVII

'Mazr'im you fool!
Now we stand locked in a cage
As if I, Li Ni'ya, am some kind of monster!'

'Calm, child, and the Light bless you.
The gates remain in my hands,
Be calm child! Soon we will crush the heathens.
Time will grant us an army to purge Ladark of all filth.'

Alone in the Temple of the Light,
Inside Ladark's Royal Walls,
Stand a gathering of three.

Li Ni'ya, Patron of Ladark-
Mazr'im, Servant of the all Merciful Light-
Sa Ra'li, Vassal of the Great House Ni'ya.

All others have three fates attached to their heads:
Dead, fled, or caged like the Three.
Few knew what happened, or why-
The Houses of Ladark committed no crime!
Now their honour demands a sea of blood.

'Mirkas is dead, hung by his body,
And the filth hold an army at my throat!
You, Messya, plan for me to wait?
The Estates may not come until our heads are on stakes!
Did you not look over the mob?'

Fury rages through his body.
Hate. Hate! HATE!
Counting in his mind Li concludes,
He must purge the Nordya to please the Light.

'Mazr'im, you are a fool.
Tonight Sa Ra'li will lead his retainers,
And crush the rabble.
Twenty horse will disperse these fools.'

Grinning young Sa Ra'li nods;
He wishes always for battle.
Yet he does not see his death coming.

Glaring Mazr'im, Master of the Temple,
Does speak:
'A fool I may be, child,
But your orders I will not oppose.
Sa, may the Light wrest your soul
Free, and upon the new dawn your body
Honoured, for your blood is spilt for the crown of
Ladark. Honour to your dead soul!
Sa free honoured Ladark!'

Taken aback both Ni'ya and Ra'li stumble.
Upon the vassal the funeral chant has been recited,
Die he might, but live he shall not.
The Fourth evening gives birth to darkness.

XVIII

Passing through the darkness they walk,
Knives out and eyes wary-
It is said the Guard controls these parts.

Not a whisper in spoken,
And ahead horses are heard.
Soon a lantern’s light gives the fools' away.

Pushing into a doorway, Sidrok and Miranda hide.
Watching a noble and his retainers ride.
Neither sweats a drop.

Silence flows in the dark
And the Lord halts to look about,
Jumping when a knife breaks his thoughts.

'Folly it is, me gracious lord,
To be out armed in the Nordya's city.
This is my blade at your neck.'

A fool threatens a fool.
A score of heavily armed horse,
Against one brave assassin.

Sidrok looks to the Mother and sighs,
Taking a breath he screams the battle cry.
Miranda, giggling, joins in.

Startled the retainers look to flee,
But the foolish lord declares:
'Surrender to Sa Ra'li or die!'

With that he gurgles and slumps,
The assassin slit his throat,
And again the hidden cry.

The men on horses throw their arms down,
Some begin too weep aloud.
All paralyzed by fear.

'We surrender, let us live!
Oh by the Father's brilliant grace
Let us live!'

Sidrok and Miranda laugh,
And from nowhere a Nordya patrol stalks,
Startled by twenty arms in the air.

Coincidence has favoured this night,
And in cool silence the prisoners are led away,
Twenty are taken by nine.



Cycle 7

XIX

“Cold winds swept them away
Upon the rising of the sleeping sun
To land engulfed in cold flames,
In the heart of stone.”

Passages through the dim streets equates death,
Unsheathed knives rest at every corner
Ladark is not a haven of peace,
But an earthly Hell.

The Nine struggle to control their army,
To hold thousands in rage.
Every day the dogma is repeated:
‘Salvation from the Counties will come.’

Each day dissent grows more,
Encompassing more of the Nordya.
The threat of the Houses seems diminished,
Bastard Ni’ya sends no troops forward
And the Gates stand under internal siege.

United by a necessity, that seems no longer necessary,
The Nordya struggle to create peace
As death rains from the sky.

In the darkness of fiery death
The Nine gather in a gilded palace.
From the outside it appears a gutted wreck,
But within, its corruption is pure.
Gold, silver, ivory, marble—wealth paves the corridors.

Captive banners mark the meeting room,
Adoring the carved dome.
A dozen noble banners are held,
And beneath them are their Lords.

Each head is impaled on a pike,
And preserved in the reapers agony.
These are the Jewels of Capture,
Symbols of the Nordya’s powers.

Discussion passes between the Council,
Each of the jeweled seats is occupied;
Departure demanded the empty to be filled.

Sipping on his aged wine,
Tomas speaks to his peers:

‘We have created the foundation for our people’s rule,
And now we must create its House!
We cannot last long without food,
Our current supplies cannot feed the Family!’

Stilled silence settles over the Nine,
Battle must be done,
Yet with victory still unsure
The Army, although anxious,
Sees the safety in waiting.

Indecision locks the Nordya,
As the War for Ladark pushes forward
This unsettled peace reigns.

Flames engulf the room.

XX

The Temple of Light is dormant,
Darkness has entered the Palace of the Sun,
Amid this blasphemy Li Ni’ya laughs.
His enemies are not moving,
Which means victory shall be his,
And the purging of the Nordya stock
Will soon be complete.

‘So Felix has shown his face,
The Dark kiss her own son,
But for luck his hand is thrown with mine.’

Mazr’im listens in dismay,
His religion is in disrepair:
Only Li’s retainers and priests still worship,
And the Mother rules his House.
Sorrow is masked for the Great Lord’s sake,
Deftly Mazr’im, General of the Brilliant Legion,
Must guide Young Ni’ya to do his bidding.

‘That is, sire, if the Estates speak true.
They have been known to pay false wisdom.
Your father-‘

‘Silence old man! No more!
A puppeteer you may wish to be,
But death is your fate—
Unless you stop speaking of my father,
May the Light embrace his soul!’

His temper rages and is not stilled,
Blood finds no home in his veins.
Thoughts fly through Mazr’im’s mind,
His game, it seems, is over.

A thin smile flashes across Li’s dark face.
Hope he knows, and cruelty.

‘Messya, do not fear for your life.
You have usefulness yet.
Tell me of these names the Nordya chant,
These “Miranda” and “Sidrok.”’

A knowing grin settles on the old priest.
Oh, how he can twist this fool!
Information is a powerful currency,
Death comes from its falsehood.

‘But rabble, my lord,
Killed it seems one night past
By the steel of your dead fool.
They are merely mourning friends,
Two less blades poised at your throat!’

A lie, the Light knows all,
Men know little.

Flames engulf the palace.

XXI

From all around the rose has bloomed
Encompassing the city as the sun rises.
In its wake nothing stands,
Great palaces turn into sand.

Scarred people crawl from the ground,
Ruined by the flames that devoured their city.
The Nordya is in tatters,
They do not know where to stand.

Incredibly the Great Walls are whole,
Though few central houses have anything to show.
In the dirt bodies are traced
By the destructive heat of pure Hell.

A song of sorrow cries for lost souls,
Its pace slow and that of a dirge,
The notes are strung out as in piobreachead.

‘Our sister is burned past recognition,
Our brother disappeared.
Oh! The Mother has cursed us for silence—
The father for action!

‘Raise the standard of Falania,
Of the sun entwined with the moon,
Let if fly proudly,
Let the demons hear no tears!

‘Hell may grace these streets—
Those that remain—
But our direction is set,
Here is Ladark!
Here we bleed!

‘Now set us forward on a journey
To a future peace,
In the name of our Revolution,
And the glory of the Sha’noon!’

Again and again and again
This song is sung,
On the tongue of the old
In the cries of the young.

Hope is born in the opening,
The blessing it is called,
Of the Rose of Ladark.

But the Crown still controls the gates,
And rumour has Ni’ya alive.

Yet whispers pass among the mob:
“From Baruk salvation will come.”

[hazard]

pete:

thats not bad, from what I read

what do you plan on doing with it once you are done? I know firsthand that the poetry market only publishes the most worthless crap you could imagine. I mean between, literally, poems about fishing and getting drunk you got crap about orchards and other shit. this crap gets published all the time. at least your epic is sort of classical in its approach and has a story to tell. a thousand pages? thats allright. I got about three hundred pages into mine before it was put to a screeching halt.

[Pete]

I'm at just over 100 pages. I got extremely sick of the story after that point. If it was typed and on a real sized book it wouuld be a lot longer, that is looseleaf paper sized, my printing isn't much bigger than what they put into books. The story can definitely stretch forth indefinitely, like Harry Turtledove's work... it is telling a story that will never have a definitive ending. My plan is probely just to web publish it if no one want's it... my other poetry has come back with a half dozen rejection letters...

Thanks Hazard:)

-Pete

[Iron Star]

I'm thinking that if you do intend to have this published you should refrain from posting it on public internet forums.

Plagiarism is an epidemic.

[Pete]

Yes.. I was thinking that as well. It is published at a nother fantasy art site which does all the copy rights ect for me, so I think that covers me. It is my work you know. But thank you fo rthe warning :D