Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Periodic Poetry Contest - Theme: Touch of Truth (Page 390, due Jan. 28)

Oh, darnnnnn. I only used two stanzas from before though...can I repost the parts that I wrote just now?

Sure thing, as long as it didn't exist prior to the post where you wrote them. You should rewrite the stanzas that had already been composed.

First they were so eager,
Their eyes were bright and sharp,
They headed off to the front,
With excitement in their hearts

They drummed out a marching beat,
Their feet pounding the ground,
Then the warriors begin to fall,
A heavy, muffled sound.

Death descends upon them all,
And whisks their dreams away,
Their figures are left there alone,
And the horrid sight remains.

The saddening tales of the fallen,
the fallen and the true,
Let their stories find your heart
And their dreams fall onto you.

I'm sad my Charlie Sheen poem didn't make the cut, darn!

Yay i got second.
His Fate
His aim was true,
Pierced through their bodies,
The arrows short and narrow.

Not one or two but three he slay,
As every arrow flew,
They came upon him,
Hit and stabbed and poke and prodded.

But because of his bravery,
They couldn't reach,
His family in time,
He to them was their most noble protector.

His body lay their for maybe a week,
Then they came and took it away,
On a boat and sent down the river.

The Betrayed Saviors

He who had slayed the most foul beast
Sits alone and wonders why
He who had defended the people he loved dearly
Is banished for a grave mistake

Why must they be cruel?
Why do they shun us when we saved them?
Did we not earn their honor, their respect, their trust?
We perform godlike deeds, but must we be perfect?

The hero who sits alone mourns for the old days
When he was an innocent child, with no set destiny
Before he gained this "fame"
That is treated like a commodity

The hero who is banished, never to see his family again,
Wonders when they will forgive him
For his sins against God
For his addictions that broke loose like a lion in a zoo

Both ponder, alone, but not forgotten
Suddenly, but surely, both look to the heavens
And realize that it was all worth it
Because they had done good

I'll admit this theme was inspired by my latest literary obsession: The Malazan Book of the Fallen by Steven Erikson. As such, I'll be posting my own unofficial entry.

Here is a tale
Of a fallen hero.
Thrown from his home,
Family and friends
He lays, crumpled on the ground.
The corner of a forgotten dead end.
He goes through his memories of his
False fame and glory.
The people that took the blame
So he could be a hero in his own story.
He caught the bad guys,
Convicted evil doers.
No one questioned the evidence.
No one thought to look
At what was inside
Of our Hero's little black book.
The lives of the 'evil'
Were honestly innocent
But they were played
As our Hero's instrument.
They took the fall,
So he could appear good.
Who would think to question
What no one else would?
Our Hero had a boy
A good natured son
Who would've thought
He would be the one?
To uncover the truths
About his father.
What was he thinking?
Why did he bother?
He saw the black book
And read of the lives
That were held inside.
The boy went to the papers,
And our Hero's fame reached it's end.
No one adored him,
Now that they knew what he did.
The boy rose to the occasion
As the first Hero fell.
He would not lie so that people would praise him,
He only promised this story to retell.
______

Not a great way to make my way back into my old home, but I tried to do something new...

Theme: Tales of the fallen

A field, filled with the fallen,
Nameless soldiers from unknown wars,
Awakened by the Master's calling,
Once again they march,
They take their orders and ask for nothing more,
Just like they had done before.

The innocent die by their hands,
They have no pity or remorse,
They spread death across the lands,
A merciless, unstoppable force,
Unaware of why they strive,
Just like when they were alive.

And when the Master has succeeded,
Then their fates are sealed,
For when they're no longer needed,
They're left lifeless on a field,
Nameless soldiers, now cast aside,
Just like the last time they died.

I'm new in this section of the community but I'll give it a try.

Tales of the fallen

Sword and shield in hand,
Walking to your death.
Marching through the land,
Taking a big, deep breath.

Side by side as brothers,
Brothers in arms.
Across the field are the others,
The others who mean you harm.

Looking across the field,
Knowing that you are outnumbered.
Clenching closely, your shield,
Thinking this is absurd.

Last words of encouragement,
You are ready for battle.
Putting on your helmet,
Listening to the distant cries of cattle.

Charging to the enemy,
Charging for the kill.
Taking your last breath,
The time has come,
For your painful, bloody death.

Lay of The Fallen

Look where this has brought you.
Dragged through the desert wastes
Of loves lost and broken dreams.
Gagging on the ghastly gruesome dust
Of all the bitter and jaded memories.
From times long dead.

Dragged onward as a chain of dogs.
Bound by bones and broken hearts.
Blood stains and crippled limbs.
This is what your wars have bought.
This is why the world cries in rage.
Most unrighteously.

They, the multitudes, know nothing.
Nothing of your heart wrenching climb
Through mounds of corpses in vain.
In hopes of finding that lone friend
Who gazes with a lone eye. Unknowing.
He does not see you.

And amid the shattered skull with bloody pulp
He gazes upon you with a terrible knowledge.
Not of your face, no, that is forgotten.
But of the fate that awaits you.
One day you shall march to his fate too.
Oh proud, silent soldier.

You move, fiddle strapped tightly to your back.
Naught but the handle has survived this,
The march into the dreaded Abyss.
But you march anyway, wide eyed stupid as you say.
And beside you are new faces. But they are the same.
All doomed to die.

With sword in hand you charge the spears.
The ranks of the unknown enemy you know too well.
That enemy is not real. It cannot exist.
No physical manifestation on this plane.
And sadly, tragically. They are all too real.
Oh brave, piteous fool.

And you follow your orders to the letter.
Praying to indifferent gods for mercy.
Even when you know mercy is forever denied
To the likes of you. The unknown soldier
Who is all too well known. This...cannot be denied.
Shelter him, dear fools.

You will await your time, and place to fall.
You will stand until they cut you a thousand ways.
Only then shall you fall. Only then shall you die
The long sought death of a haunted man.
Who has seen too many companions fall.
Too many hopeless deeds.

But even this stand is hopeless.
Even this stand is a meaningless thing.
But still you stand, poor fool.
Still you stand. and you shall fall.
Burning whatever bridge is left to you.
Heroic fool.

Here is the fall that they do not know.
The tale that will never be told.
For it has remained unwitnessed.
And it shall always be so.
For too many have fallen here
Dragged by the chains built on bones of dead men.

Memoria
(Remembrance)

With sadness, I remember.
The instruments they held
Prooved greater than the sword,
And brought light to the waste.

I remember.

They who lie hidden.
Sheltered in the muck of
Our world. Uncut diamonds
In the ruff; Forgotten.

I remember.

Those who once walked our halls.
They who inspired, and were admired.
Those countless, creative minds.
Those who were, and are, my friends.

I remember:

He, who in sadness and despair,
Continually touched my soul
And spurred me on to never
Settle for less, but to reach
Upwards, with 'Excelsior!' ever
On my lips.

I remember:

He who still dwells among us.
A shadow of what he was,
But still great in his own right.
He who guided my hands,
Like a potter on a wheel,
Shaping, and making for the better.

I remember:

The Maiden across the water.
Kind words spewing forth
Like so many waterfalls.
Who in my doubt and malignancy
Picked me up and kindness spread.
Renewing me from my flames.

I remember:

Those countless hordes,
From places I cannot name.
Who only came, leaving
Minute traces of their visits.
But traces they were, placing me
Where I am today.

I remember!

With these recollections
Flowing through me;
Quik-Silver in my veins.
I am inspired again.

I remember!

Ever Higher! I will go.
Never, will I cease.
Never, will I abait.
Never, will I yield.

For it is only their reward.
Fitting, for their service to us all.

Requiescat in Pace;
In Memoriam.

The Tale of the Hunter
He lays stiff and sound;
Fallen to the evil ways.
No heartbeat, no blinks;
He is hone, gone forever.

In his glazed eyes his tale
Etched in vivid horror lingers,
Grasping, crying, for help:

Siting under the shade of a willow,
Crafting arrows, polishing a grand bow.
Prized knife shaping pitiful wood
Into slender, lethal killers.

Dusk sets in, sun dies out;
the Forest becomes silent
Except for the melodious chirps
Of the crickets, singing their song.

There is an eerie shift in the brush.
A dark figure leaps into the night,
Then cold iron meets warm flesh.

Agonizing in pain, crying woeful yelps;
His soul drifts away, the look of pain
Stained into his eyes; forever to retell
The Hunters mournful tale.

Submissions are now CLOSED! Judging will happen between now and Friday.

I would like to thank everyone for their submission and I am happy to see more than four. I hope this keeps up.

I'll be submitting an entry once the alleged judging has happened.