Poem Analysis
Nov 21, 2012 19:42:11 GMT -8
Post by ElfChild on Nov 21, 2012 19:42:11 GMT -8
I am so glad this thing exists because it gives me something to work on and analyze while the time jump is going on everywhere else.
It was written by Alaina Woodsbourne, and thus is probably either relevant or otherwise interesting.
______________________
On sunrise tide of the dawning days
There came the Makers Four to play
In early glow of Soullune’s rays
And these were the Olden Gods.
One, the Lonely forest walked
Two, of Growing earth would talk
Three, the Vision-keeping hawk
And Four, the Cunning flame.
The Makers Four their wills did pour
Upon this empty land before
Their hands and hearts that saw yet more
Twas then the mortals came.
And for a time lived with accord
The Makers and their separate wards
Until between these ruling lords
The jealous seeds were sprung.
For each of the Olden Gods had sought
To make their figures most well-wrought
But in delight contests forgot
For long, but not for good.
On noonday tide of the dawning age
The hawk this question did engage
And stirred within the others, rage
For each one thought theirs best.
The Makers’ tempers ruptured bright
Began to argue theirs was right
With bitterness, and hurt, and spite
That cut them to the core.
Their burning words disjoined the lands
With flames and storms of angered hands
That ground the peoples’ lives to sand
And filled their eyes with fear.
Then the Cunning God, His hammer seized
Brought down His Sister to Her knees
And beat Her with it through Her pleas
Till the Vision-keeper died.
As the hawk lay mangled on the floor
The Lonely-walking Goddess swore
Revenge upon Her Brother Four
And turned to face His wrath.
A dagger from Her robe She drew
And wept as Her first strike fell true
To bite a pain-full rent straight through
The flame’s bright bloody throat.
His eyes turned to a deathly stare
The Cunning God then crumpled there
Beside the Vision-keeper fair
As Betrayer and Betrayed.
In horror of Her deeds of strife
The walker turned upon Her knife
And with it, ended Her own life
In sorrow and despair.
There lay the Makers Three in death
Now only the Growing God still left
And He, to morn and He bereft
Of the kin gone from his side.
He bore his siblings to their mounds
And buried them beneath the ground
Away from mortal sight and sound
Where stars would always watch.
The last of the Olden Gods, in grief
Carved out another grave in lief
To find from anguish spare relief
And buried himself alive.
The Olden Gods, the Makers Four
Lay dead beneath the soil’s door
And dead will lay there evermore
But for the trees that grew.
Beneath the stars, above the earth
Four seedling trees began their birth
Remembering the Maker’s Mirth
And remembering their deaths.
On evening tide of the dawning years
These mortal lands were filled with tears
These mortals never would heed or hear
The Makers evermore.
The Gathered Gods with pity came
And every kindred made a claim
To each one race the Makers named
And let them by the hand.
They led them to their haven holds
To mourn the passing Gods of Old
And from that day the Gathered Souls
Would care for the mortal kind.
Ere midnight tide of the dawning days
The Makers four now silent laid
Lonely, Growing, Dreamer, Flame
And these were the Olden Gods.
________________________
So yeah. Obviously this is a story. And what happened seems pretty clear, if not for the fact that we don't know how literal it is and what's symbolism if anything and stuff.
It was written by Alaina Woodsbourne, and thus is probably either relevant or otherwise interesting.
______________________
On sunrise tide of the dawning days
There came the Makers Four to play
In early glow of Soullune’s rays
And these were the Olden Gods.
One, the Lonely forest walked
Two, of Growing earth would talk
Three, the Vision-keeping hawk
And Four, the Cunning flame.
The Makers Four their wills did pour
Upon this empty land before
Their hands and hearts that saw yet more
Twas then the mortals came.
And for a time lived with accord
The Makers and their separate wards
Until between these ruling lords
The jealous seeds were sprung.
For each of the Olden Gods had sought
To make their figures most well-wrought
But in delight contests forgot
For long, but not for good.
On noonday tide of the dawning age
The hawk this question did engage
And stirred within the others, rage
For each one thought theirs best.
The Makers’ tempers ruptured bright
Began to argue theirs was right
With bitterness, and hurt, and spite
That cut them to the core.
Their burning words disjoined the lands
With flames and storms of angered hands
That ground the peoples’ lives to sand
And filled their eyes with fear.
Then the Cunning God, His hammer seized
Brought down His Sister to Her knees
And beat Her with it through Her pleas
Till the Vision-keeper died.
As the hawk lay mangled on the floor
The Lonely-walking Goddess swore
Revenge upon Her Brother Four
And turned to face His wrath.
A dagger from Her robe She drew
And wept as Her first strike fell true
To bite a pain-full rent straight through
The flame’s bright bloody throat.
His eyes turned to a deathly stare
The Cunning God then crumpled there
Beside the Vision-keeper fair
As Betrayer and Betrayed.
In horror of Her deeds of strife
The walker turned upon Her knife
And with it, ended Her own life
In sorrow and despair.
There lay the Makers Three in death
Now only the Growing God still left
And He, to morn and He bereft
Of the kin gone from his side.
He bore his siblings to their mounds
And buried them beneath the ground
Away from mortal sight and sound
Where stars would always watch.
The last of the Olden Gods, in grief
Carved out another grave in lief
To find from anguish spare relief
And buried himself alive.
The Olden Gods, the Makers Four
Lay dead beneath the soil’s door
And dead will lay there evermore
But for the trees that grew.
Beneath the stars, above the earth
Four seedling trees began their birth
Remembering the Maker’s Mirth
And remembering their deaths.
On evening tide of the dawning years
These mortal lands were filled with tears
These mortals never would heed or hear
The Makers evermore.
The Gathered Gods with pity came
And every kindred made a claim
To each one race the Makers named
And let them by the hand.
They led them to their haven holds
To mourn the passing Gods of Old
And from that day the Gathered Souls
Would care for the mortal kind.
Ere midnight tide of the dawning days
The Makers four now silent laid
Lonely, Growing, Dreamer, Flame
And these were the Olden Gods.
________________________
So yeah. Obviously this is a story. And what happened seems pretty clear, if not for the fact that we don't know how literal it is and what's symbolism if anything and stuff.