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The Flames Of Origin: A Song of Antiquor

20 Apr

The following poem is part of a collection set in the far away Relm of Antiquor.  If you are unfamiliar with poems from far away lands many depict battles and have characters who are unusual or fantastic.  If you wish to sing it like in olden days you will need to find an appropriate tune because one wasn’t provided.

Without anything further,  Here is The Flames of Origin:

On the mountain side under the clouds
Lived a warrior people tall and proud
Whose screech were heard all around.

They had large wings, talons, and eagle eyes They were filled with pride
over what should be theirs, far and wide.

Their captors lived in the sea and in old times
Defeated the chaos beyond the tides
Overpowering them with their teeth and poisonous spines.

They owned treasure and kingdoms fine,
Their power extended to the mountain line.

Cloth and metal was cut and ropes were strung
The old war the Aviamen sung.

The Sea Kings slept in their reefs
For they felt safe in their keep.

The Aviamen had a long journey from the tops
They also needed fuel at every stop.

They saw The Great Highlands recorded in
The Ancient Tomes.

They stopped in The Dark Forest to see the shining elves
to seek help to repair their sails.

They flew towards the coast
Where they saw creatures as clear as ghosts.
As they roamed around silence was kept,
Although a moan was heard like a mother who wept.

Argus The Grand, whose feathers aged from tan now to grey was only in his span,
decided it was time to go. 
If they didn’t they would be taken by the crying souls.

A fortnight later, they made it to the sea
Just one more day then they’d be free.

The airships rose to strike,
The enemy within their sights.

Bombs were dropped many in a line,
They lit up the night sky.

Luan, The Ocean General, ordered the ships to
flank left
to avoid  certain death. 

Cannon fire rose underneath and all arms struck.

The sky glowed with embers,
It was the brightest night anyone remembers.

She looked down at the adding cost
Both sides were bleeding with all the lives lost.

She landed among the fallen,  Cinda The Blaze, 
She saw the dead-end gaze.
She lit the ground ablaze, burning the whole earth,
Both sides saw the others worth.

Was it the end? Were they all gone?
Neither would sing a victory song.

The blood they saw had been burnt
And in its place the ground began to turn.
The soil changed to blackened soot
And saplings began taking root.

Dirt became Hills and later mountains tall
So high one could see over all.

The Sea rushed in and pulled the soot away
Because new ground was to stay. 
The clouds began to soar
It was clear a new country was born.

What to call this new home?
They named the land, Antiquor.

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Posted by on April 20, 2015 in Poetry, Short Fiction, Writing

 

Tags: , , , ,

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