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For Fear of the Worm
At rest upon a well-tethered pillow,
I rest, so fitfully, 'neath the shrouded moon.
Aside me, my well-feathered fellow friend,
So awash in such sweet dreams so soon.
My friend stirs not when the echoes roll in,
But I shudder with a chill deep and bitter
At the winter worm's spine-tingling howlings.
Oh, how I long for the end of this winter
And tend to myself and my musings
And ponder the housing of the creature
I so casually plundered and so choosing
Found many an exquisite feature.
The treasures of the unknown,
I'll trade in the morn with ease
For all that can be flown
Great distances, like cheese
To my friends 'cross the great seas
That struggle day to day
But to feed their poor families
And fend off the greys.
Is it wrong to offend
A beast born of the ice,
Intending to tend
To the suffering, enticed
By the moon and the casual
Means by which he sleeps?
I should state in a factual
Manner, though I weep,
That I love the blue worm
Though I so often find
At the end of a storm
The courage to mind
My tongue and my footfall
And dare his bare realm
To creep and to crawl,
Seeking Neggs and great helms.
Perhaps the worm loves me too,
Forgiving my offenses.
Perhaps it is nothing new,
Yet, I am awake
And my mind wonders still
Should the ground yet quake
And with it my will?
Will I find tomorrow
A bright, smiling sun
Or the justified sorrow
Should the worm, in sheer fun,
Bare his ancient white fangs
And cause me to regret
My sympathetic pangs
Toward others' Neopets.
Evening leaves without a trace,
Light no more the ocean's face,
Darken paths of fading day,
And rumble all the blue away.
Beneath the surface, night awakes,
Under brooks and under lakes,
Slumber holds the ocean tight,
Until the dawn is burning bright.
Nonetheless, the shadows creep,
Tearing through the lonely sleep,
This is the city, ruined and torn,
Yet quiet 'til the winter morn.
Maraqua wakes in morning tide,
Floods the sea and floods inside,
While creatures sing and dance and dive,
Watch Maraqua come alive.
Although their life is ripped apart,
They've come afresh, a brand new start,
There home was once of joy and grace,
Now it lies, a ruined place.
Maraqua is restoring fast,
Leaving back their shattered past,
Soon it will be free once more,
And hear the heartbeats on the shore.
When crimson sun sinks 'neath the sands
And night befalls a barren land
In whip of tail and flash of mane
Dark Nightsteed dares to ride again.
Cursed stallion of a wasted town,
True form unveiled as sun sinks down,
Black as night with bloodgaze eye,
Swift as arrows through the sky.
Loyal protector, bitter foe,
Friend to one of long ago,
Shadowy figure of ancient tome,
Hooves never stilling, to wander and roam.
But cursed to hide at morning's light
'Til prince weds princess of Sahkmet by rite,
'Til then the Nightsteed soldiers on
Through land where light has long since gone.
In shadows deep he stealthily creeps,
A sly glint in his eyes,
Shrouded with a brown felt cloak,
He melts into the night.
Ever watchful and prepared,
With ornate razor blade,
This Lupe is sombre, always grave,
Lying quietly in wait.
Hired by an evil being
To vanquish stubborn foes,
His skills have never failed a test,
Yet persistent is his frown.
Freedom, the assassin knows
Is far from his strong paws,
And as a hired hand to slay,
Questions, he should ask not.
But sometimes on a lonely dusk,
He ponders missions foul,
Wondering if all that is done
Has truly been worthwhile.
She was but a subtle undertone,
Some say a rogue in gloom,
In the faintest chime she'll strike a moan,
Beautifully stalking in her room.
Taking steps will overlie her stirs,
Agility compresses compare,
Every look is merely a blur,
She is swift within her lair.
Every shadow is skipping around you,
Every silhouette is a mastering disguise,
Now you wish you'd start this walk anew
And never enter where Shadow Usul hides.
Total Poetry Pages : 1959
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