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DISCOVERY OF BRIGHTVALE
By Anjie and Chivo
Oh, I walk the merry road,
I've longed to often tread.
Dreams of knowledge do I seek,
To fill an empty head.
Winding paths will take me home,
To realm bathed by the light.
Castle like a sentinel,
Stands tall, awash with white.
Brightvale! Oh! The golden land,
I seek your wisdom now.
Here I'll dwell to learn and teach,
So sacred is my vow.
Past the wheel that spirals quick,
Beyond the potion store.
A world of wisdom doth await,
A realm I must explore.
Books containing ancient lore,
What secrets may they yield?
Hearty bounty, vibrant fruit,
Hand-picked from yonder field.
Merry motes, alight with hope,
A chance to show their might!
Glaziers with fire hot,
Where glass is formed, alight.
Inhale scent on warmest wind,
Indulge the sunlit gleam.
Here wise Hagan gently rules,
Beloved, in high esteem.
Forsaking lands I've seen before,
Mere memories of the past.
Brightvale, the wisest realm,
And I am home, at last.
My brother, Skarl, he's quite the oaf,
Eating meats and devouring the loaf.
His disgusting ways I willingly scoff,
At least we sip, whilst he does quaff!
Brightvale is the most scholarly land,
Verdant fields and castles most grand.
Where literacy flows mostly unbound,
With fresh knowledge constantly found.
But Meridell, I do find quite dreadful,
For it to change is a thought, but wistful.
Conditions are poor, citizens are taxed,
Not just by work, but payments made waxed!
Skarl, you fool, why do you do so?
Until your subjects are as bent as a willow?
To work in the fields, like the peasants they are,
Until they are taxed immensely -- bizarre!
At least in Brightvale, our peasants are treated
With respect, and dignity left unblighted.
They have food for their table, drink as well,
With books to devour, for the mind to swell.
Yet in Meridell, the peasants are poor,
Farming a land that was probably moor.
They work tirelessly at day, go hungry at night,
Those poor souls deserve more for their plight.
And thus have I, good King Hagan have spoken,
About the lands not far from my own.
Lands where the king hath his subjects forsaken,
And a brother of whom I forever bemoan!
Salute Thee, King Hagan
Where is the horn that blows,
The horn that salutes the king,
King Hagan who knows everything.
Salute the King of Brightvale,
May sun and moon shine on thee,
For your wisdom inspires me.
Noble of heart, wise of head,
With your land below your castle spread.
I bow for thee. King Hagan, noble king
as warm as summer and refreshing as spring.
and as pure as winter, as colourful as fall,
King Hagan above all.
Even the bravest flee in fear,
When only you come near.
And for what are they frightened?
For you King Hagan, the brightest.
Star of Brightvale, star of hope,
May you shine on every slope.
In your castle fair and wise,
Will you listen to all who advise.
I salute thee, King Hagan, may you rule forever,
or else may your star shine wherever.
A Tour of Brightvale
Green, white, and gold,
Colours shine in the sun.
Walking through Brightvale
Can be lots of fun!
First you have the castle --
This holds a wealthy king.
As much as his brain is wise,
The gold is on his ring.
Then you have the Wheel of Knowledge,
Every day it turns.
It lands upon the King himself;
Oh, how the wisdom burns!
The shops that stand there,
They sell expensive stuff.
Yesterday I bought a mote,
But all it did was poof!
The Draik in Brightvale Glaziers,
He looks awfully tired.
Maybe you should help him?
No. We don't want him fired...
All the fruits are homegrown.
Anywhere else they won't be found.
No, we didn't see them in Meridell!
Lying upon the ground.
This is the end of the tour.
But this is your surprise:
Hagan wants you out of here
Because you're not very wise...
Beautiful mosaic glass
From Brightvale Kingdom, all.
From present day to recent past,
New wonders will befall.
Bright and shiny, colours beam,
When light shines through and through.
The Draik who makes these windows will
Have a sale for you!
Have one for your sandy room!
Or flowered ones for halls.
Magnificent crests of lands,
Or faeries on your walls!
Perhaps a king, or a spooky ghost,
All at a decent cost.
A Money Tree, or an Omelette too,
Designed in glassy frost.
Of all the wonders in ancient tomes,
Don't miss out on Brightvale's pride!
Glorious windows to adorn your homes,
To lose out is woe betide!
The Wise Old King of Brightvale
Bright as the light that bends and sparkles
Through stained glass windows, the glazier's art,
So too does Brightvale's patriarchal
Royal King Hagan dazzling words impart.
His advice like lambent luminescence,
The murk of mental fog dispels.
The Wise King provides lasting lessons
With the use of simple parables.
"A kingdom's greatest resource," he notes,
"is an educated populace."
And, "Foolish innocence always," he quotes,
"outweighs innocent foolishness."
Often one finds an empty throne
While the King studies at the library.
He is also known to search for tomes
At Brightvale Books and at The Scrollery.
His quest for knowledge is eternal,
His subjects invited to share their wisdom,
While he beams with hopeful pride paternal
And ponders their words when they are done.
A final judgement is soon affirmed,
Whether positive or discouraging.
Either way a lesson will be learned
By both the subject and the Wise Old King.
Bright morn, proud dawn,
Gleaming windows rainbow light,
Like slow-turning kaleidoscopes
That spin away the dark of night.
Grass below, castle glow,
Sweet Brightvale fruits of plenty hue,
Purblare and Grilled Shishkafruit;
Skeem and Passionberry true.
Knowing looks, Brightvale books,
If further you desire to roam --
Shelves and shelves of wisdom waits,
Knowledge that is as yet unknown.
Moonlight, dark night,
Scrolls for almost any need,
Defence, despair, and fiery sun,
At the well-stocked Brightvale Scrollery.
Mote of Ee, Mote of Ree,
Bubble, Water, Salt, and Dust,
If battle's what your valiant pet seeks,
Brightvale Motes -- they are a must.
Sunlit skies, royal rise,
Great Brightvale Castle looms ahead,
With regal majesty within,
For those who have wisdom to be shared.
Bright morn, proud dawn,
Gleaming windows rainbow light,
Beauty lies upon the land,
That spins away the dark of night.
Total Poetry Pages : 1961
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