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The Mysterious Symol Hole
Upon a grassy knoll in Meridell,
There lies a hole, mysterious and deep,
Just what exists down there no one can tell,
Although into it many peer and peep.
The troop of hopefuls lines up, vigilant,
Their faces puckered in inquietude;
They wish that their Petpets
Will bring some hint,
Or fetch something which does
From ground protrude.
Yet, one by one, their rosy moods are smashed:
Their pets return, alas, with empty paws;
New from this hole to which
They just had dashed,
They bashfully retreat, failed in their cause.
And thus, the Symol Hole still mystery holds;
We can but wait and watch as it unfolds.
There are stories I've been told,
Stories known by young and old.
These stories are hushed and rarely recanted,
Tellers fear "The Three" who are enchanted.
But on this night I'll share with you,
These stories I wish weren't true.
Within the darkness a threesome dwells,
In corners, tombs and castle cells.
They speak a language filled with greed,
And drive the sane away with speed.
And from these three comes a tyrant force,
For nothing does he show remorse.
An evil spirit clad in black,
Who waits until he can attack.
An elder, a Gelert, a fearsome foe,
With power to cause the greatest of woe.
So quietly does he taunt,
And so stealthy, he broods and haunts.
He strikes those who walk alone,
All castle guards have heard his moan.
A sickness he brings wherever he strays,
A sickness that forever stays.
An illness of greed, of revenge and spite,
Of a hatred as dark as the blackest night.
Within this Gelert, no goodness resides.
And in the shadows he always hides.
Waiting, watching, whispering lies,
And glaring with his crimson eyes.
The three, they lurk and plot their schemes,
And simply drift through Neopian dreams.
There are stories I've been told,
Of an evil Gelert whose heart is cold.
Keep quiet these things I've told to you,
For these spirits have nothing better to do,
Than roam and haunt the innocent
Until their time on Neopia is spent.
I dance and sing;
I live on wing
Of word and whispered tale.
A heart I wring,
A tear I bring,
For fall to ill from hale.
A village fell
'Till none were well
Though still my brother walked.
Now none can tell
It's just a shell
...Just Kanrik left to talk.
To seek to heal
He'd work or kneel
And keenly does he grieve;
But does he feel,
And am I real,
Or only make believe?
This is a tale of wonder and delight,
A tale of happiness that happened overnight.
Young Zack, a Zafara, had a dear dream,
To track down the Fountain Faerie
And its fair queen.
It all happened one day; it was Monday the fifth,
When a rumour spread 'round
Of a spectacular gift.
If you were lucky you would be graced,
By the Fountain Faerie, face to face
This rumour told tales of many a flavour,
The mysterious faerie would ask
One simple favour:
If you could give her this one common gift,
In return you'd receive a coat colour shift.
Be it plushie or faerie, Darigan or Maraquan,
She would change your colour
In one swift transaction.
But there was one slight setback to this little tale,
The chances of this happening
Were almost bound to fail.
Though Zack was determined
To make this tale happen,
He'd search the corners of Neopia to satisfaction.
An hour had passed which soon grew to two,
And Zack had no luck, and certainly no clue.
He'd been to Faerieland
And had traveled a great distance,
Though the faerie left no trace of her existence.
"Why can't I find her," said Zack in his mind,
"I've looked for so long for this faerie I can't find."
Zack slept that night like a pea in a pod,
Dreaming of giant Cybunnies
And an Elephante squad.
At dawn Zack set off on his search once more,
And looked upon a silhouette
He'd never seen before.
Upon the distance just east of Terror Mountain
Was that mermaid-shaped figure
That ruled the great fountain.
The Fountain Faerie had come
With a quest to ask,
And Zack was the Neopet to carry out the task.
And so this tale ended with happiness and glee,
Zack, the Zafara, got painted for free,
And should you ever come across
This generous spirit,
Carry out her quest and be thankful to fulfill it.
The Lab Ray Scientist
A yellow figure dressed in white,
A pair of wings that rarely flap,
With swirling eyes that glimmer red,
A shock of hair, split by no gap.
A grin, a laugh, a teasing wave,
A chamber found, shown in the map;
A scientist who stands within,
And beckons you into his trap.
The secret lab, the lab of one,
Who can unleash the mighty zap!
The glance of fear, the pleading cries,
Are all ignored by this mad chap.
A gain? A loss? A change of type?
Who cares at all? Not this one chap.
For he is busy with his ray,
Resetting it for the next zap.
And so beware, and heed my tale,
And do not roam into this trap,
The Ray inside the dank dark lab
That lies in secret, in the map.
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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