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Plague of the Mummified Peppers
I know it. I know it.
That one of these days,
The mummified foods
Will become a big plague.
When the full moon rises
And the blood red sun sets,
I know what will plague
The city of Sakhmet
The mummified peppers
Will rise, then at dawn,
Causing us sniffles and sneezes
And no one to be calm
Then, as the next,
The mummified ice cream will rise,
Covering buildings and towers,
Making strawberry skies.
I cannot believe it!
It's already happening!
What will become of us
In this big catastrophe?
The Sword of Skardsen
You've spent months training hard
And now you'll test your skills.
But your opponent has a trump card
That's sure to give you chills.
You can break rocks with your head
And you're faster than a bullet.
Like a wall that can stop a truck dead
With fists like an iron gauntlet.
No way could a little wimp like that
Beat a well trained beast like me.
I'll beat him up until he's flat
And claim my victory.
But as the first round begins,
Your hopes begin to fade.
The weakling stands before you and grins
Holding an evil looking blade.
Legend tells of a powerful sword
That never disappoints.
Deep within Fyora's horde
For eleven million Neopoints.
If you have the money
It will be cash well spent.
Even in the hands of a little Cybunny
It will make your opponent relent.
A blade forged in the dark
Only the very richest own it.
It will always hit its mark
But it might set you back a bit.
Battle For Meridell
Two rival kingdoms,
Thought tamed with a treaty
Have hostility rising,
While the peace is retreating
Persuaded by Lord Kass
Into a near-chronic war
The manipulative leader,
Bears a smirk as before
Civilians of justice,
Now with rapiers in hand
Assist and compel
In their well-thought through plan
Meanwhile, in Meridell
The land is at ease
Until suddenly a nightmare
Wisps by like a breeze
Numerous troops fall in an orderly line
Pushing back King Skarl's defense,
One at a time
With hope helplessly simmering,
Lower than ever
The fearless warriors seem
To fight into never
Captain Jeran decides,
They should fly to the Citadel
Enveloped in darkness,
They silence their farewells
Yet their faith failed to dwindle,
As the Air Faerie appeared
And they continued on,
As the shadows disappeared
Soaring on soundly,
Through freshly-painted clouds
They speak of a victory...
One to be found.
Web of Vernax
Spyders have a bad rep
Because we're not all that cute
And people always say we thieve and kill, to boot!
But we need to pillage and we need to steal
Because, like others,
We're just trying to get a meal!
In Web of Vernax, you help us to eat
By entrapping in our web tasty morsels of meat.
Don't think we're bad, we're just hungry little bugs
So stop calling us bullies or beasts or thugs!
Build our webs strongly, keep the Vernax inside
Because if we go hungry,
Then of course we will die!
But don't let the Vernax bump into our webs
For that is another way that we'll wind up dead.
Some people think we're just out to fill our girth
But we prefer to be called a friend to the earth!
We eat all your insects and keep gardens clean
So I don't understand
Why you think we're so mean.
So play Web of Vernax, and then you will see
Just how helpful to Neopia us Spyders can be.
Don't think we're mean and heartless and rank
When you've got nice gardens,
You have us to thank.
The Gray Faerie
She sits on the ground, lost and confused;
Pale skin and broken wings, tired and abused.
Her magic is long gone, she has no stable home;
Nowhere is she loved and welcomed,
Now and then Neopets pass,
Looking with much pity;
For no one likes the look
Of this faerie forlorn,
No longer is she pretty.
She may cry over and over,
Tear after tear;
But no one is there
To care, listen or to hear.
She has seen the glory of other faeries--
Fire, earth and light;
She wishes she could be like them all,
And be able to take flight.
Her dress is torn and patched
And feet are bare and weary,
Her face is gray and saddening,
And her eyes, wide and teary.
She wishes there were someone else
With troubles just like her;
So that it may relieve
Some pain of this awful curse.
"Baelia!" She hopes some soul
Will cry in helping effort,
Instead all who see call her names
And are always brief and curt.
For now she shall remain
A sad and broken creature,
And pray that she will
Aquire an amazing feature.
But now her antennae hang
Sadly from her grey head;
Maybe one sweet they will
Stand up right in glory again.
Total Poetry Pages : 1961
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