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Just a Little Disorganised?
Brightvale's starting to look a bit bleak
I noticed, as I hurried down the stairs,
And as I entered the great library, huffing,
I was met with critical glares.
I was ushered impatiently through the door;
My gaze fell on books strewn, caked with grime,
How could the Brightvale archives be such a mess?
And to organise them I had so little time!
Such confusion I have never known!
Where to start, I could barely decide!
The books seemed that they could fit anywhere:
I really wished I had some sort of guide.
I began my task ever so tentatively,
With the librarian Yurble scrutinising me so:
His snappy remarks at my every mistake
Sank me into a desperate woe.
But once the order was discovered,
The pace picked up: It was even a little fun!
I even managed to pocket some items,
Rotten Beetroot, anyone?
So with these archives finally in order,
I do hope Brynn can find what she seeks,
She just has to find some sort of clue,
Before, on Neopia, havoc wreaks!
'Twas a warm day many moons ago,
When sparkling eyes first met.
A moment of joy, a moment of shyness,
As two star-crossed paths did meet.
A vibrant young guard, eager for work,
A troublesome thief looking for joys.
One small struggle over a picked pocket
Did destine these paths to meet.
Young Brynn the curious, eager with life,
Bright Hanso the sly, seeking adventure,
Over crimes and captures the two become friends,
To entwine the two paths into one piece.
The Kougra betrayed by her own trusting heart,
An Ixi whose only concern is his fun.
A trusting bond formed, only to be broken,
To bruise the souls of the path's travellers.
What secrets do these two hold?
The power to save all of Faerieland?
Only time can tell and bring about the fate,
Of two star-crossed paths together in whole:
Brynn and Hanso.
What will stop this endless drawl?
I've become a fighting drone.
Not a second to relax,
Because the faeries turned to stone.
Alas, I trudge -- through night and day,
The endless wraiths wear me thin,
I just continue to ward them off,
And contemplate the mess we're in.
It's been so long, I'd like to say,
That seasons change as we fight,
I am sure our mirth-filled owners,
Find watching this a pure delight!
Perhaps one day, when I am old,
And my Blumaroo bones give it up,
I could maybe ask the Faerie Queen,
If I could just stick to the Altador Cup.
Silence in Faerieland
Up above Neopia,
high amongst the clouds,
flies the realm of Faerieland,
Graceful, tall, and proud.
Tall spires and grand archways,
of many varied hue.
From palest seashell pink
to richest royal blue.
The shops of its fair city,
they stock such wondrous things.
Then there's the Poogle Races
and the famous Healing Springs.
Yet something is amiss
in this fairest land.
The faeries are all statues.
In still silence they stand.
No bubbles left for bursting.
The Wheel is standing still.
Now whom do we turn to
when our pet is hurt or ill?
No pages left to colour.
No races through the sky.
The shining Rainbow Springs
have, alas, run dry.
So come, all faithful Neopets.
Help Hanso with the plot!
Neopia won't be the same
if our faeries are forgot!
The Hubris of Hubrid
The pride of one with no humility
Lends easily to their eventual fall.
There's no such thing with this one
as all for one or "one for all".
You seem to be addicted to gold
And ice cream and power.
You don't even realise that soon
It will be your final hour.
You think you have your enemies trapped
And that your escape is a sure success,
Knowing that those fools
Will not escape that mess.
Not in time to catch you!
You are the most cunning, right?
Then who defeated you so easily,
With a simple flash of light?
Total Poetry Pages : 1961
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