A Marshy Poem; C-Minor

By: Agrias Posted on: December 07, 2006

The drummers strummed, out in the night,
Hours before they'd see first light,
The cry of owls, poised in flight,
Saw last the strokes of the Troll's final plight.

The senators, upon their steeds,
Commanded with a desperate creed,
Guardians fell, and wept to bleed,
Their deaths as fleeting as a need.

Thier History, I'm sure you know,
Repeating shan't be the path that I go.
Instead I trace their future's flow,
And begin where Taug recieved first blow.

Oh, muse, Scarlatti, lead me true,
Let me still tumult like you,
Before our Crimson skies shone blue,
Back when trolls held hope anew.

...............................

Amassed, were they, outside the gates,
Hoping 'twas some great mistake,
Their Senate, in such haste did make,
And as each fell, morale did break.

With bat-like wings, a crimson belt,
A bright, Golden crown, and a Trollskin pelt,
Eyes of fire, and breath that could melt,
A pain, far greater, than any had felt...

Yet, at first the trolls besieged him not,
And tower did he, and his bony lot,
For his left hand, held, a small clay pot,
And mutter, did he, to this vessel he brought.

When dashed on the ground, came a plume of green smoke,
And the Kasmarkin Trolls 'rent to sputter, and choke.
Then out of the fumes, as the Senators spoke,
Ran a trail of green slime, from said pot that he broke.

It coalesced into pools, then converged on the men,
And they turned it back, just to happen again.
The Senators' heads fell limp in refrain,
As the clouds overhead let down a great rain.

It was the trolls final hope, to flood them away,
But the dirt, and debris, just combined in their stay,
And cordoned the trolls, now apart from their prey,
And earth came to shake at the glory's last day.

The Senators, continuing so powered a force,
Unleashed their combined fury, with Taug in the course,
He gave out one last final strike at its source,
But aught now, too late, there for hope to endorse.

A final blind flash, that filled vision with red,
Left Taug in a crystalline, metallic-like stead,
Made from the hearts of the trolls aught now dead.
The grounds still were shaking, as if tears it had shed.

The battle was over, but naught side had won,
But the end of their dynasty already begun,
They wept at their future, which they could not outrun,
As the clouds that brought rain, were now broken with sun.

In the late final hours as Kasmarkin sank,
The sky tore open wide, then quickly shrank,
And a figure of crystal towered on the left bank,
The expressionless face that it wore nearly blank.

It stepped into Taug's crystal prison in stride,
As Kasmarkin was wholly swallowed up by the tide,
And the wails and the bellows and the children who cried,
Sank deep in the swamp as their pain finally died....

Oh, my children, pass not ye to there,
They say when the sound of a bugle fills air,
That the city then lost, itself will repair,
Naught enter....lest ye too, see their despair.

............