From the Sea, part two: The Summit of All Fears
As no one would heed him, and no hearth had holp him
So Silver was sent to go solely, and spurned
So fled he from out of the clans who had shunned him
Yet willed and avowed one day soon to've returned
Now heedless of obstacle, path, or direction
The youth yielded nothing, and hardly did halt
And never looked back, lest like Trot's wife of legend
He too should be shaped to a standard of salt
So galloped he on through the fields and the marshlands
And only in front did his gaze ever fall
And beggared his breath grew, and fewer his footsteps
Unaided by wing, through his strength plew a pall
At long last he came to the roots of a mountain
A remnant of giants, a shard of a throne
A kingdom of age past, a long-ruined splendor
The future that Silver had come to disown
When they came over the sea
In a tide of crimson hue
When the anvil rang, and the landers sang
Of the bright ones bathed in blue
For hours gazed he at the tower, which treeless
Had served as a sentry, surrounded to stand
And standing surrounded, had stayed still superior
In all ways majestic, above all the land
The mead-hall of giants, the conquest of heroes
Which through ages long past had stood at its base
The ring-room of elk and the playroom of eagles
Who soared round its heights with superlative grace
The bane of the ruthless invaders from outlands
It stood as a sentinel, barring the way
But unto those willing and strong and courageous
The monument toppled as it were of clay
For it was a magic time, when both immortals
And mortal magicians held runes carved by Wyrd
And often as not, held the runes unto leylines
Though not 'til the warlock was lengthy of beard
When they came over the wake
In a tide of crimson hue
When the anvil rang, and the landers sang
Of the bright ones bathed in blue
So as the colt stood by the sundering stonework
Awaiting the dawn which would bathe it in light
His soul, steeped in sorrow, soon sensed his surroundings
And Strength, all-pervading, filled Silver for flight
Aye, filled him with courage (though he was not lacking)
And heartened him hardily, set him for ought
It stripped him of sorrow, and quickened him quivering
No nervousness this, but a powerful drought
Which acted as ale, though it veiled not his vision
Not blindly to battle, but bravely, and bold
He clear coursed with confidence, caring, and careful
Ran reckless no more, though he faced the untold
And thusly imbued with the blessing of Fortune
He strode forth with sureness and faith in his quest
Empowered with energy, never ambition
For his selfish gain, he stood pure of the rest
When they came over the wake
In a tide of crimson hue
When the anvil rang, and the landers sang
Of the bright ones bathed in blue
So set he his mouncher, and folded his fliers
And straightway set out on his long journey up
His blood coursing now like magnificent magma
No food he required, nor soup needed sup
So never he harked to the hell-hail and howling
And whistling winds but as whispers did sound
His eyes fast' he forward, and fairly was flying
No freezing, no frailty he felt on the ground
Steep upward he soared; though on hoof, he was gliding
So safe was his soul and so healthy his heart
While fire of phoenix full flared from his lamp-lights
He smiled and ascended, and straight as a dart
And straight as a dart was he lifted by Whoadin,
Who graced him with wisdom and strength to rebuild
They say that the gods help those ponies with passion
So Silver was holp on his quest for a Guild
When they came over the wake
In a tide of crimson hue
When the anvil rang, and the landers sang
Of the bright ones bathed in blue
But this is a story (and natheless a true one)
And stories read best when the scroll is unfurled
So hie we from Silver, and make the map smaller
And fly o'er the land as with wings o'er the world
So passing through prairies and running through rivers
And trotting a bit through the marsh and the fields
At last we arrive at our story's beginning
The place—not the time—and see what it yields
So firstly we visit the unicorns' commons
Where they were constructing ballista and sword
For tall trebuchet they felled yew in the sapling
And vines and e'en fishgut they strung into cord
So all was in shambles, though strongly constructed
And Dvalin's Delight then in shame failed to shine
And almost all ponies forgot their old nature
And all of old Nature began to repine
When they came over the wake
In a tide of crimson hue
When the anvil rang, and the landers sang
Of the bright ones bathed in blue
But even in times when the world seems to crumble
And reason by fickle Dame Fortune is tossed
She never annihilates Order's firm foothold
And Harmony's cause is but veiled, never lost
For there was one unicorn, sprightly and cunning
Whose horn only served her to act as a lamp
A filly was she, and her magic uncrafted
But never for ought grew her young spirit damp
They called her Young Aurum, the daughter of Scefing,
Who ruled all the unicorns westly of Gryph
Who had now assembled and readied their mana
And waited and stood at the base of a cliff
For she was not like them, Young Aurum of Scefing,
And never she warred when the bloodmoon was full
She set out for peace, and for Harmony's Order
And ready and waiting the hate to annul.
When they came over the wake
In a tide of crimson hue
When the anvil rang, and the landers sang
Of the bright ones bathed in blue
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Secret crush
2370404 Mutual, I'm sure.
Finally!
2370461 Yuss! Serry!
How do you write this so well?
2370966 Mares, boy, mares!
But seriously, thanks. I don't consider it a great work by any means, but I do love poetry. I've been reading classic poetry since I was really young, like four or five maybe? And writing rhymes. I keep a journal that's all in poetry, which helps me organize my thoughts into a nicely comprehensible and rhymed flow. I've always considered the raps and lyrics I write for myself and others to be a form of poetry, no matter what type of song I'm working with. I consider poetry, read silently or out loud, to be music, just like I consider most things to be music. The way a rhyme or verse should go is greatly felt rather than thought, I think.
But eh, what do I know? I probably just listen to too much Monstercat.
2374322
All the same, great writings. I want to try writing something myself one day, just need to find the time. I even already have a good outline for it. Though it helps that am incapable of not thinking about, seriously I think about it 24/7. I even dream about it... That's not very healthy, is it?
2375562 Some say dreams are the precursor to reality. Some say fantasy is the reflection of another realm. Some say french fries are really good with mayo. They're right.
A piece of advice I got from Cloud Wander (who's a really, really awesome writer who nearly caused me to die simply by communicating with me) is to write the fun parts first. Just start with your best ideas, jot them down, and don't worry about writing every part of the story in order.
Another piece of advice I got is from Sir Squidfish (who's a wayyyyyy better writer than he thinks he is, and generates brilliance whenever he sets finger to keyboard) is to just write. Just do it. Having something written, having something put down on paper or screen and finished, is a good thing. Even if you hate it, it's a good thing.
The other thing I've heard is to write a lot. Practice makes perfect, I guess. The more you know, the more you... Kohl's. Write well, I mean. The more you learn from your own writing, successes and failures, brilliance and mistakes, the better writer you will become. That's the other thing-- you never stop learning. No one is a perfect writer, even famous authors like Tolkien or Tolstoy. So in a very real sense, we're all in this together.
Hope that helps. But eh, what do I know? I'm just a random guy who still thinks Gangnam Style is cool.
--ForeverFreest
2380363
Thanks. I'm going to try that. Also if you haven't already, go to YouTube and watch gangnam style karate.
2380501 Brilliant! And hilarious. Guys, this is hilarious.
Wonderful chapter, just like the first. The archaic dialect usage was wonderful, and your alliteration is splendid.
The only thing I'm having problem with is the redundancy of some of the description. You're spending a great deal of time focusing on the same thoughts or events, and I think once or twice even repeating words or lines - not to rush, but perhaps we could come along further with the story? This is already quite an epic tale, and one I'd hope to see turn to a climax at some point in the future.
Looking forward to the next chapter.
2392947 Thanks! Wow, everyone's being really nice. I could include more action for sure; I just wasn't sure, as I spent some hours reading excerpts from Beowulf and it seemed to take a veeerrrryyy long time on the descriptions. But I can adapt! Like I said, an epic is shaped and remoulded over millennia by those who hear and retell it. More action and direct plot can definitely be done!
2397713 I think The Descendant has done some cool epic-style songs, like, the really old non-rhymed kind. Deke's an awesome writer.
Epic pony poem? Sounds good to me.
Seriously, this is quite fun to read aloud. I look forward to more.
2460793 Thanks!