Whence upon the mark, one thousand;
whilst the tribes are numbered on hand,
The kings betray the lion's band--
their victory 'pon the sand.
Cast upon the ancient valley's crown
conjurers of the mountains, renown.
Forsaking life, thereto in death, they drown:
fasting such their hearts brought down.
Thence upon the coming day
the woman lost will finally sway.
Disowning kindred in love's dismay;
dealing angels to those astray.
By union's curse, a child born
bereft of father and kindred sworn.
Light of angels kiss this thorn;
love of legends end in scorn.
Taken by the lover's hand;
the light of future in distant land:
Dressed in life of brother's stand;
drawn with peace of wanning brand.
Leaves lay tumbled lost--unfound,
left bereft of limbs and ground.
Lost forever these words, are bound,
long forgotten each sight and sound.
Feilds lay fallow come morning's sea;
fraught with whispers of "meant to be."
Run the waters of misery;
rest the final history.
Cut of diamonds, the shimmered glass,
cinch forever this fortune's mass.
Gone in slumber this vision's impasse;
greived of death and life--of boy and lass.
Thence the end of eternities;
turned at last to mysteries.
And so the end this tale decrees
of legends held by youwarkees.
Author notes
A thousand years in the making. Quite a bit of time for everyone to get ready for this, right? Anyway, I put half of the line below each line because it'd run too long otherwise. It's meant to be that way, but most people don't have their browser wide enough to see it that way. At least it's more or less guaranteed cleaner this way...
Basic idea (though altered) follows:
==WARNING: Major Spoiler if you don't want to know the story I'm basing this off of!!!
At the beginning of the year one thousand and only five tribes remain, the strongest tribe will be overthrown as they battle on the beaches of Cheric. The wizard tribe of Yvestion on Blue Whistle Mountain will enchant the Siu Valley in hopes of protecting it.
By the 200th day, the barrier will be destroyed with the death of the wizard tribe.
The woman in question will be taken by force by the coming usurping power. The woman will birth a child, conceived by her true husband and tainted by the overuling magic. This child will be foresaken by both fathers.
The child's brother will take the child away from their homeland. The child will be safe before the brother dies. No rock will sit upon another rock, no tree will have leaves when the final battle ends and the last youwarkee is dead.
The fields will be sown with salt and the waters coated in blood. The skies will disappear and silence hang over everything. The youwarkee kindred will never return and their past glory will be forgotten.
A contest entry
- Tell Me a Prophecy by FallenAngel09.
450 points, ended June 13, 2007, 11 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Thank you for your entry into my contest, your talent and hard work are very much appreciated. I loved this poem, the flow and symmetry of it is so beautifully written its simply astounding. You took the rules of this contest and ran with them, I love it. Great poem, great rhymning, and good luck in the contest.
Your Host,
Tiphanie -
At least it's more or less guaranteed cleaner this way...
folding sets meter and shows where lumps might occur
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