No Name #4

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
An older poem of mine that is super nerdy and one of my few ones that rhyme.

Submitted: November 21, 2011

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Submitted: November 21, 2011



Of men, wizards, elves and such,

The things of magic plague them much.

At night the witches gather 'round,

To see what mischief they can make.

For young men hasten to their doors,

With waking eyes, t'was their mistake.

To choose of them which one be killed,

With blood and demons they will build,

A giant to engulf the sky,

The rising sun will not be nigh.


The Wizards foretold this day to come,

The endless night, and all are dumb,

To tell them of how all this works,

Of men and elves, their spies do lurk,

To find the sun from under death,

The witches know so they do smirk.

Men see their fate and so they cry,

That all good things will end and die.

Though hope be in the Wizard’s heart,

The men all die, the elves to rot.


The final men and elves do see,

Of how to end, and then shall be,

The kings of all the witches' realms,

And end this lasting misery.

The witches plot and call them fools.

The wizards steal their sacred pools,

And pots in which they mix their potions,

Now the duel is set in motion.

Beginnings of the end to be,

Of what we all shall wait to see.


The End of all to come is here,

The sky now opens to the clear,

Blue sky now, and birds do chirp.

The witches cry for they do fear,

These blissful times until the end,

Until the Earth is born again.

With nothing bad, where good prevails,

A time when all folks then shall hail,

The new kings from this war of hate,

To rule this new world is their fate.

© Copyright 2018 Andrew Willey. All rights reserved.

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