Terra's Rose

[Justin Silverblade]

Hey gang. I was recently blessed with the time to write, and could find no inspiration whatsoever. That's the way of things I guess. But as I was reading though some things of the Pen's, my friend's, and my own work, I found this poem, Terra's Rose, and felt the need to share.

 

I may have already posted it, in which case I'm sorry... but I don't think I have (at least not both parts). It may seem a bit "out there" and that's because it was written for an RPing game, Archmage, and specifically about my time as a member of an evil guild (hurrah for AoD), but I read it over and it should make sense by itself. The reason I'm posting it here is because in reading it I realize just how great a source of inspiration can be to one's writing. I think the language and mood that this sets is far better and more powerful than a lot of my work earlier and later on: it was the people and the place that helped me write such wonderful poetry.

 

It's a two part poem, and kind of long. But I hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

Terra’s Rose

 

 

(Part 1)

 

Born of noble creed and colour

Began a tale, bold and true.

Slowly as the learning world

Turned, this strengthened boy grew.

 

And unto man this broth unfurled

Like kindly sap, of tree well known,

A flower, sprouted in his kingdom hence,

A rose, pure white, to ground was sown.

Upon the earthly realm of dust,

Of soiled greetings and human lust.

 

Fought along the road of valor,

Sword with wanting, of life’s amending,

His heart of honour, and eyes of light,

Thus actions made, to terra sending.

 

No guard, no wisdom, but faith he led

And then to terra a guild so bold,

That his kingdom knew, and friends alike,

His walking founded, red rose untold

Coloured of blood, courage named,

Known of ignorance, change unclaimed.

 

And then the moon did show its face:

Silent whisperings of the night,

And the nobility of said could hear.

Cause to bring to he such flight.

 

And never known to the world

Where his heart or eye had been,

But now its place eerily obvious,

Of rose so regal, none could be seen.

And that is where our tale dost lie,

In the heart of darkened eye.

 

A rose – so black – flourished then,

To bring spiked stem to saddened beauty,

He worked and laughed, sighed, preyed,

To those, his kin, he set his duty.

 

For they had nourished the soiled ground

They had shown change well claimed.

They knew of spiteful ignorance,

And they, with passion, could untame.

In the darkness where armies stand,

Of rose that grew, they would demand.

 

“To the ground, the ground, My Love!

Into thus, whence came your sin,

Depart at once, and look not back,

For else your strength shall die within!”

 

The shouts of warning, came from him,

And as commanded, it did now grow,

The dark rose wilted now, inevitable

Its demise began, deathly slow.

From the dirt, and to the lake

Refresh the darkness, and forsake.

 

“To the ground, the ground My Love!

I wish to see your beauty now,

But wisdom forsakes a sacred look,

To the ground! Hear my vow!”

 

But the rose would not be rushed,

And as it went, memories flew,

“My Love, sweet Love, I know you well,

But know you not, nor next your hue.”

And so was true, that statement told,

Unknown to sprout, unknown of mold.

 

 

(Part 2)

 

With gentle ginger, the black did float

Upon the ground with lifeless stroke.

It would die, and would decay,

And would be born another day.

And when it did, He would gloat.

 

And so was true, that statement told,

Unknown to sprout, unknown of mold.

 

And unbeknownst to even He,

The voice of sweetness sang “unity!”

The garden’s life came born again,

Under food of thought, and hardened rain.

That unknown sprout would now be.

 

Upon the earthly realm of dust,

Of soiled greetings and human lust.

 

So quickly grown after its decay,

Dost show its will, its ungodly way.

To the night, screaming dreams,

A passion burning, on darkened teams,

Devoted then, come what may.

 

And that is where our tale dost lie,

In the heart of darkened eye.

 

But rose which grew upon the land,

Did not show an ebon hand,

Nay indeed, its colour true,

Was once again, an arrogant hue.

It showed its colour, no eye of bland.

 

From the dirt, and to the lake

Refresh the darkness, and forsake.

 

The rose is shone in lightened mind

No black was there, of olde kind,

Indeed now, red rose was present,

Blood of passion, rage of peasant.

True friend anew, did Darkness find.

 

In the darkness where armies stand,

Of rose that grew, they would demand.

 

That was truth, beyond all hope,

For this third coming was all that wrote,

Of beauty’s rose, held so dearly,

In the garden of one man, merely.

And no soul could deny an end of rope.

[Peredhil]

Long indeed

but worth the read

Archmage is gone

but the Roses live on...