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ALesiach Jul 27
Would you like to go to a land,
where the stories never end?
It rests on a golden bank of sand,
down where the river bends.

The sky turns suddenly pale,
while passing through the mysterious veil.
But what a magical, wonderful sight,
to see the fairies in flight.

To see the elves dancing two by two,
in the early morning dew.
To hear the sweet music from the leprechaun's lyre,
as the laughter trills through the air.

Skipping over a babbling brook,
down where the trees do sing.
The dragons give a dubious look,
to see the mermaids enchant the Unseelie King.

And while frolicking in the meadows,
watch as the gnomes gather rose petals.
But be ready to pay the toll,
if you pass over the Bridge of Trolls.

Night is nearly on the land,
time to greet the Sandman.
I hope you have had a happy day,
and do not forget to come back this way.

ALesiach © 10/01/2014
Seanathon Mar 15
With eyes to weep beneath the night
Neath trees which ought to've lasted ere
How sad it was for me to leave
Before such fullborn youthful tree
I'd turn myself once more, I could
And cry her name fullborn aloud
To catch my breath, and see her all
Before my Gondolin did fall
Calaquendi - The high elves
Girard Tournesol Dec 2018
Dead Elves lay red-green vinyl metaphors
A lawn-full once happy helpful industrious
Now lifeless realities of common folk
Blown away by puffs of truth
Outside Words Nov 2018
Munching, crunching on a bone,
The trolls of Langwood growl and moan.

Through feral mutterings and drivel,
They gulp and choke down last night's grizzle.

In their cave on rocky mountains high,
Their scaly skin cracks from air so dry.

Once human men poisoned by greed,
Transformed into ogres for their misdeeds.

They prayed on people of modest means,
Until our good sorceress intervened.

She protects our land and keeps us safe,
From warlords and bankers filled with hate.

Condemned to live long foul lives,
The trolls of Langwood miss their wives.

For they now resemble their truer selves,
Forever denied the beauty of men and elves.

© Outside Words
Outside Words Sep 2018
tiny elves in my backyard on my stoop -
“PLEASE SIR, MAY WE HAVE SOME SOUP?”

running out from between blades of grass,
they shouted in unison with a burly crass:

“YOU MUST UNDERSTAND, IT'S A TUESDAY NIGHT,”
“AND TUESDAYS ARE SPECIAL IN ELVEN LIFE!”

“sorry sir, soup is not for elves; mommy said!”

“DON'T LISTEN TO THAT OLD BAT,
IT'S LATE AND SHE'S IN BED…

...WE COME TO YOU IN NEED OF NOURISHMENT!”

“but, I’m just a kid and mommy discourages it!”

i said in my biggest voice, for the 900th time
as they threw up their arms, like I’d committed a crime!

running around in a mass,
they ran back, with such sass,
through the leaves in a big hurry -
on a hunt for soup they scurried...
© Outside Words
Uta Jun 2018
Cold night,

swift breeze,

she was shining like a bright diamond beneath the moonlight sky,

her skin was pale and soft,

Her eyes blue, secretive and true,

an elf she was,

fairest, wisest and most powerful of all beings that walk the Earth,

and yet a creature so beautiful and so wise,

fell in love,

with a man,

a mortal,

of which was a shocking decision for others,

but a right one for her.
Comment and tell me what you think!

A very short loving tale between a she-elf and a man.
Uta Jun 2018
Wolves lurking through the trees,

hunting, surviving in the cold breeze.

Monsters hiding beneath the ground,

killing and slaughtering everyone around.

He who searches the sky,

will find the stars amplify.

Witches, wizards, elves, and dwarves,

they all fight for something that isn't yours.

Wealthy or poor they are all the same,

dying and living is just a game.

Do not be fooled by the allure,

it can trick you into thinking obscure.
Comment and tell me what you think.
Inspired by the Witcher 3 Lullaby of Woe.
Please, if you have a better name title for this poetry, tell me.
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