Post by RaditzSoldier on Aug 31, 2005 19:11:00 GMT -5
Characters: Timbrus Malked, Sidra Modin, Juei
Timeframe: The Seige of Minas Tirith
Genre: Poem
Summary: The warriors Timbrus Malked and Sidra Modin are hiding behind the walls of Gondor as the orcs try to get in. Juei is the only named orc in this tale, but there are many others
Notes: This poem has an ABCBD pattern.
Knocking, knocking.
The walls of old are moving.
The battering ram ever pounds,
The women try to their babies soothing,
But to naught success.
Knocking, Knocking.
The soldiers grip their swords tight,
As the orcs chant the doom of men,
But the face of the warrior Timbrus is white.
To naught success they fight?
Knocking, knocking.
The archers scream their last,
Men scramble unter the Wings of Fright,
So forth their lives end so fast,
To naught worry?
Knocking, knocking.
Timbrus Malked walks to a leader,
By the name of Sidra Modin,
Who awaits Timbrus beneath the ceder,
For naught will move him.
Knocking, knocking.
"When will this end?" Screams the man,
"Under the glowing stars shall we wait,
'Till the twilight gives pity to faces wan?
To naught but death?
"Knocking, knocking.
Knocking on the olden wall,
The battering ram attacks,
As Juei awaits the blood of us all!
To naught to we wait?
"Knocking, knocking.
There is never more?
While the orcs attack,
Our lives shall be tore?
To naught glory!"
Knocking, knocking.
The commander sheds a tear,
"I'm afraid there is nothing I may do,
To finish our fear,
To naught do we exist?"
Knocking, knocking.
The gate is tore,
To Sidra an arrow,
And he is now just lore,
To naught more.
Fighting, fighting.
Men fall dead.
And as Timbrus is pierced,
He is known to said,
"For naught more!"
Crying, crying.
The cries of the women,
The cries of the men,
The city is fallen then?
To naught their lives have come.
~ The poet RaditzSoldier
Timeframe: The Seige of Minas Tirith
Genre: Poem
Summary: The warriors Timbrus Malked and Sidra Modin are hiding behind the walls of Gondor as the orcs try to get in. Juei is the only named orc in this tale, but there are many others
Notes: This poem has an ABCBD pattern.
Knocking, knocking.
The walls of old are moving.
The battering ram ever pounds,
The women try to their babies soothing,
But to naught success.
Knocking, Knocking.
The soldiers grip their swords tight,
As the orcs chant the doom of men,
But the face of the warrior Timbrus is white.
To naught success they fight?
Knocking, knocking.
The archers scream their last,
Men scramble unter the Wings of Fright,
So forth their lives end so fast,
To naught worry?
Knocking, knocking.
Timbrus Malked walks to a leader,
By the name of Sidra Modin,
Who awaits Timbrus beneath the ceder,
For naught will move him.
Knocking, knocking.
"When will this end?" Screams the man,
"Under the glowing stars shall we wait,
'Till the twilight gives pity to faces wan?
To naught but death?
"Knocking, knocking.
Knocking on the olden wall,
The battering ram attacks,
As Juei awaits the blood of us all!
To naught to we wait?
"Knocking, knocking.
There is never more?
While the orcs attack,
Our lives shall be tore?
To naught glory!"
Knocking, knocking.
The commander sheds a tear,
"I'm afraid there is nothing I may do,
To finish our fear,
To naught do we exist?"
Knocking, knocking.
The gate is tore,
To Sidra an arrow,
And he is now just lore,
To naught more.
Fighting, fighting.
Men fall dead.
And as Timbrus is pierced,
He is known to said,
"For naught more!"
Crying, crying.
The cries of the women,
The cries of the men,
The city is fallen then?
To naught their lives have come.
~ The poet RaditzSoldier
