Fall Children: The First Spite

Published in the year 78
Authors:
Mattias of May’s Court,
Oak of Taylor’s Court,
Havok of Dulceria’s Court,
Gull of Deacon’s Court,
Enteripp of The Capital

Our Season

Can you feel the chill?
Can you feel the world slowing from below?
Can you feel the growing thrill?
It's gaining time

Can you see the signs?
Can you sense the crumbling of the leaves?
Can you sense the crispness in the pines?
Calm will descend

Can you sense the calm?
Can you see the absence of it all?
Can you feel the need to curl up warm?
This is true peace

And I’ll say: I'll wait, I'll wait 'til the seasons change
And you’ll say: Why wait? Why wait untill the autumn comes?
And I'll say nothing and give a mirthless laugh

The Most Peaceful Fire

An artwork depicting a town surrounded by forest. The sun is setting towards the right of the painting, over trees whose leaves are a fiery red. Towards the left of the painting the trees remain a lush green. At the front, bare trees stand. Small figures can be seen wrapping ribbons and hanging small glow lanterns on the bear trees branches, which is beautifully crooked and curved.

The Bonds of Wounding

Through our suffering we are the same,
Taking our feelings that others cant name,
It radiates and recognises those of our kin,
The broken, the lost, and the ever misplaced

They can listen and smile but utterly mishear,
Get angry when we break what they hold dear,
Our languages mimic sound not meaning,
The broken, the lost, and the ever misplaced

Why must we struggle to find our true home,
When others have been there since they were born,
But when we find it we are welcomed, held, and loved,
The broken, the lost, and the ever misplaced.

Unbalanced

How can I listen when I am full?
There is no way forward,
I am saturated, poisoned, done?
What will come of me as you go onward?

Your sins were too much even for me,
Ill beg for forgiveness but i still feel so cold,
You move ahead, find a new soul to see,
How many behind me alone now grow old?

I saw you standing while i fall,
I saw you laughing while i cry,
I saw you walk on to take all,
This all from you, i took it willingly,

I fear i am ruined for all that is ahead,
I lie here alone, cold and dead.
But i let you bloom, i let you run,
And that is my gift, my gift to you.

In Their Minds

If it were me, i’d hold endless grief,
If it were me, i’d hate what I got,
If it were me,
If it were me, i’d revere peace,
If it were me, i’d want you to rot
If it were me

You built them of rage, tumbling through fights,
You built them of hate, but limited sight,
They don’t see their true enemy is us

If it were me, i’d want you to swing,
If it were me, you’d be over the edge,
If it were me,
If it were me, i’d stop at nothing,
If it were me, to get my revenge,
If it were me

You built them of rage, tumbling through fights,
You built them of hate, but limited sight,
One day our true enemy will be them

The Elven Battles

A red smeared painting of what at first appears to be a view of the ogre battle mountains, painted from a viewing stand. On closer inspection, the seats of the platform are filled with ogres, cheering and clapping, while below, elves massacre one another.

Sharing

They came, treading unknown roads,
They came, without needs or things,
They came, to us their gold flowed,
They came, and we gave them everything

We dilute ourselves
We cheapen our souls
For the mundane
Volumes of the same
I’d take the unique and banish the common

We gave, our best winning tales,
We gave, our most precious works,
We gave, leaving only the stale,
We took, the gold that now forever lurks

You said we were of beauty and art,
Then we watched as you sold your hearts,
You took our art and left nothing be,
We will play on streets of gold, plain and empty

The Stench of Roses

They are strangers walking our lands,
I stopped a while to listen,
But their tongues are twisting,
They are in need of an out stretched hand,
I stopped to listen,
And heard only pain

As your rose bloomed, as did mine,
We take them and offer petals,
Let them blossom, let them shine,
Fertilised with their stench, we make beauty out of devils