Monday has come! Here is my submission in the Virtuosity challenge against @mysticotta, to be judged my @mizeress (I guess? They could also set up a poll since that’s how the Whimsy puns were judged? Idk) In case you missed the post, we are writing poetry about Nalthis— go check out Mystic’s submission on their blog!
—
Where my lady laid her head
Grew a many-shaded gift,
Which collected was reflected in a puddle by a rift.
Where the living give the dead
Grew a huddle of a town,
And its towers made the bowers where my lady laid her down.
For the people in the flowers Edgli fashioned her a boon
That the edge of life should come forgiving, some gone late to death.
With a passion in their fates
And a power in their Breath,
So my lady’s chosen givers came to live another moon.
With the oils of a painter and the fortune of a fool
Did my lady’s people toil for a portion of her grace.
With the visions of a saint,
She would guide this shaded place,
And her people with derision lay aside their fated rule.
As the years become the ages and the sages lose their art,
So the people of a vessel grow to fear their lady’s heart.
As they nestled in the rift
Snuggled in her hand
Warring for her gift
Struggling for land
Peoples torn apart
Thus a folk in reddened crowns
Lay in doom down to the boy
With their dead as gray as stone
Bearing axes sown with life.
Fell the blooms in browning blight
In a barren field of strife
To a smoke as black as night
Wielded only to destroy.
But my lady saw her beauty in the vibrant shades of death
And she watched to the exclusion of her duty to the kind
An illusion yet to fade
In the fiber of her mind
When a fellow of the chosen laid his blade and gave his breath.
So a vessel lives and breathes,
As divisions rise and fall.
So my lady chose their savior though she slumbered through his call.
In designs our vision weaves
The behavior of our lands
So their futures without number always nestle in our hands.
May the people of the bower know my lady’s caring face.
May they know her grief is wider than the power of her grace.
May they thank her for her guidance through their brief and narrow years,
And grow fuller on the color of my lady’s flower tears.
