Lament of a young Serpent

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By: Hieyoko Posted on: February 12, 2006

Our author here is understood to be a young, mhun serpent, freshly graduated from Loom Island. With a slight bloodlust and an eagerness to explore, he set off on his travels, only to be strongly thrown back into reality. These poems were taken from the young serpent's journal, recovered from the side of a ditch on the Prelatorian Highway. They have been titled by myself, to allow the reader a more firm grasp on the topic of each section of poetry.


Stanza one - A Hatchling's Woe

I sneak off Loom still high on pow'r
From the Fountain, then see a Tower…
While Lady Sol allows the night
To reign, I go to test my bite.
But when my fangs first taste an imp,
He laughs! Then says, "You little whimp!
Your venom sucks!" And with a sneer,
He struck me; I ran off in fear.
A housemate heard, but my hopes sunk
When he said, "Want to bash? Go monk."

Stanza two - Requiem of Scales

I concentrate and close my eyes,
And much to my sudden surprise,
A new defence surrounds my skin!
With scales like these, I'll surely win!
So off I dash, past rock and tree,
To find that imp that had mocked me,
And with a smirk, my poisoned bite
Hits once again! But then, my fright
Compounds, because his counter-strike
Still hurts! So I flee to the night.
And as his mocking laugh does ring,
"To you," I think, "your death, I'll bring."

Stanza three - The Whip, and the Dirge

My fangs appear to not be right -
Their speed is fine, but damage slight
Enough to leave a butterfly
Unharmed. With these, I'll die.
So with some extra gold, I spy
A whip! Now that should get me by.
So from the Steel Falcon I head,
To render my nemesis dead.
As I approach, he laughs a bit,
Then I lash out… but do not hit.
As frantically, I try to fight,
Now not with whip, but with my bite,
His sword runs through me, and I die
With only him to hear my cry.

Stanza four - Elegy: A pair of ends

A blind rage clouds my vision now -
This imp MUST die! I don't care how.
As off to take revenge I storm,
I brush away a tiny swarm
Of gnats, and run o'er to the Flame.
I think, "Two can play at this game."
My fangs then dart into my arm,
And I soon begin to feel warm…
After the venom takes its toll,
I am reborn, but as a troll!
I plod to Certimene, mind set,
And grunt, "That imp has got to get
What's coming. Certimene, I quit
As serpent! I can't take one hit!
Make me a monk!" My muscles swell
With my new power, and I yell
In triumph, then I head to crush
The skull of that old imp to mush.
But as he dies, he coughs, "You fake…
You couldn't make it as a snake."
I stop to think upon this fact,
But cannot make my mind react
The way it used to… it feels… slow…
And I'm not sure which way to go…
I'm walking… down a road… I think…
I feel myself… begin to sink…


The remainder of the pages in the journal were incomprehensible scribblings, smeared with drool and various other substances. Efforts to interpret the continuing pages proved futile, as any writing recovered was little more than incomprehensible scribbles... Every word, that is, save one, repeated fairly often before also degenerating into aimless scratches...