Home

Advertisement

Customize
About this Journal
Current Month
 1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031
Oct. 15th, 2005 @ 05:39 pm Poem: The Burial
The Burial.

Put his blade beside him,
It must not fight alone.
With him, the blade was honoured
And now, with him, goes home.

No compensation, kinsmen!
Now I revenge would see.
A treasury of wergild
Won't pay for such as he.

What gold will pay for honour?
What price is set on pride?
The whole world was diminished
When this, my husband, died.

What worth's set on a father?
My sons will lack one hence.
No, blood alone will answer
For this most foul offence.

If you, brave kinsmen, falter,
Then give the task to me.
Ere grass has graced his barrow,
His foes will punished be.

Please lay the blade beside him
And raise his death-mound high,
Let all his foes be vanquished
Before of shame I die.

_______________
About this Entry
Leave a comment
Permanent Link
Sep. 29th, 2005 @ 01:25 pm Ssivla - The Largest Dwarven Kingdom.
Ssivla.

Ssivla is the Dwarven homeland, ruled by King Klistar III (called Klistar the Invincible). Most of the country consists of mountains and the small, fertile valleys are farmed by humans known as Chiglings. The prefix “chig” means, “field” or “of the fields” and Chigling, like Rockling (the widely known name for the Dwarven tongue) is a Chigling term. They hold land in freehold for as long as they and their heirs live.
( Read more... )
About this Entry
Leave a comment
Permanent Link
Sep. 29th, 2005 @ 01:22 pm Homeward
This is a poem of the Elves of the land of Glassissvellir for one of their kind who has gone from the land.

A Certain Time.

There will come a time, a weary time,
When the path you took in sunshine,
With glad heart and merry step,
Will turn through a dark valley
And the stones will bite you.

There will come a time, a sorry time,
When the dreams on which you have fed,
Which sustained you through all trials,
Will be stale and flavourless
And will come to choke you.

There will come a time, a lonely time,
When those friends who have shared your path,
Making you joyful and strong,
Will abandon you at last
And you will weep alone.

There will come a time, a doubting time,
When the map in which you had faith
And of which you were so sure
Will be found inaccurate
And will lead you falsely.

There will come a time, an aching time,
When the burdens you never felt
While your back was strong and hale,
Will weigh you down and grieve you
And you will cry for rest.

And when that certain time comes,
You will find, beneath your weary feet,
Before your doubting eyes,
To ease your lonely heart and aching back,
To bring you back from sorrow,
Another road, which is an older road,
A brighter road with steady upward slope,
A road that leads to lands you have forgotten,
Hearth fire and heart's desire, your soul's home.

Come back along that road, come home.
Hear the voices that still speak your name,
Softly, as in a prayer, softly as in a dream.
Your presence is more dear to us than rubies,
Too precious to be given up for gold.
Your love is as the fragrant air of the mountains.
The storms in the mountains are the echoes of our cries
Calling for your return, or news of you.
We will not summon you back, breaking your journey,
But when that certain time comes, we are here.
When you come, there will be music in the glades of Glassissvellir
And feasting in the mountains, and dancing by the sea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About this Entry
Leave a comment
Permanent Link