Poems

Poems having to do with Riala in some way are archived here.

About Riala:
* Catharsis * Father * Hatred * Riala Goldentail's War Song * Riala's Ballad *

Inspired by Riala:
* Lost * Warrior's Heart * I Am No Warrior * Dare to See *
* The Child Listens * Twilight * Death * When A Youth Becomes a Warrior *
* Northlands * A Plague of Hares * Hate *

* * *

Catharsis
{No, it's not shaped like a mushroom.  It's a tree.  See it now?  Good...}

I hide it

Well- the pain within.

None know the squirrel beneath

The shell of silence, coldness, standing

Apart from all who might try to befriend this

Squirrel.  Even I cannot remember when last

I allowed myself to feel grief or to feel pain

Or shame.  But sometimes the pressure

From within becomes far too great

To withstand and so

I take to the trees

Letting green leaves

And strong boughs

And the purely

Physical trials of

Staying aloft burn

Away the shadows

Within.  I can forget my

Past when racing the wind

Through the trees, if only for a time.

* * *

Father

Father, I have finished what you began-
The legacy of hate passed on to me
With your death.

I tracked the wolverine as you must have done-
From frigid North where hate was sparked
To sun-scorched South.

You said he killed one dear to you-
Though you never told me that one's name
Or relation.

But he killed one so dear to me-
With treachery he destroyed you
And my life.

My reason for life has been hate since then-
And a desire to avenge your death
On the wolverine.

Now, Father, I have gained my revenge-
Done that which you died attempting to do
Leaving me alone.

Tell me, Father, what to live for now-
For my hatred was my life, and I've
Nobeast left to hate.

Vengeance seems a deadly cycle-
One that I'm caught in and
One I can't escape.

Your grave is silent, Father-
You can give me no answers
For you are gone.

I'm still a child, Father-
Though my innocence is gone,
I still need guidance.

But there's no one left to guide me-
I pushed them all away in my quest
And I'm alone.

Father, I have finished what you began-
And now I begin my own search
For a purpose.

* * *

Hatred

{This is basically one of my posts to Fort Ruddler (see Fort Ruddler: Rambling Tavern) turned into a poem.}

'There's no reason ye couldn't live the rest of yer life happy.'
...You make it sound so easy...

Have you ever felt grief so deep
You can't think
Can't act
Can't move?

Ever been touched by fury so intense
It overrides all reason
All emotion
Leaving you dry of tears?

And then the fury settles to cold hatred
Smoldering hatred
Hatred so deep
Nothing in all the world can drive it out
And the only thing you can do is obey it...
Spend seasons of life trying to satisfy it
As it consumes you
Becomes your only purpose
Nothing you can do to stop it....

You want me to smile?
You think it's so easy to stop hating?
When all you've ever done is
hate and kill
kill and hate
When all you've ever known is hatred...
When it's all you are...

Emotion's the first to die in a life like that.
You forget how to laugh
Forget how to cry
Forget how to live
Forget everything but anger
Everything but hatred.

'No reason ye couldn't live the rest of yer life happy.'
So the mind says...
The heart tells a different story.

* * *

Riala Goldentail's War Song
{This is crap.  Absolute crap.  Why?  I wrote it years ago, that's why...}

I have a tail of golden
A heart full of vengeance
From when the Longclaws crossed my path
My soul is filled with wrath.

Longclaws, you will not live long
Vile black wolverine
My vengeful stick will wreak its song
Of death upon your scum filled head.

Nightdeath Longclaws, I am on your trail
Your days are limited
Soon I’ll find you all alone
And my father’s death will be avenged.
RIIILLLAAARRRRR!!!
 

* * *

Riala's Ballad

{More crap, also written years ago.  Some of the content in it is now untrue when applied to Riala's life because I entirely rewrote her original story.}

Born the daughter of a warrior
On a cold winter’s night
The squirrel’s mother died giving birth
Died giving Goldentail life.

Rilar Battlecry, a fearsome warrior squirrel
He was the father and caretaker
Of Riala Goldentail
And he protected her well.

But then one night, when Riala
Was but three seasons old
A great enemy of all squirrels
Came to Goldentail’s home.

Rilar drew his mighty sword
And charged the wolverine
The Longclaws drew his scimitar
And they battled, good vs. mean.

As Riala watched, screened in the trees
Nightdeath Longclaws growled
Three times, loud and short, carried by the breeze
For Battlecry was winning, the Longclaws had found.

A weasel from the wolverine’s band
Strung an arrow to his bow
And with careful and unfortunate aim
The weasel let the arrow go.

Riala’s face showed horror
Her soul filled with anguish and pain
As the brave Rilar Battlecry died
From the Longclaws deceptive game.

Goldentail fled through the trees
Blindly because of rage
As she grabbed a satchel and a knife
Her heart felt like it was in a cage.

Riala raced away
From that place of sorrow
Her home, burned behind her
She ran with a stick as a weapon, that she could swing or throw.

On and on, evermore
She stays to the Longclaws’ trail
Riala will follow the wolverine
Because her father fell.

* * *

Lost

In the maze of memory
Fraught with traps and snares
Hidden behind mystery
In deepest netherwhere.

Walls of thorn and pain and night
Turning, twisting, shadowed prison
Hide the sun from the world's harsh light
Lock the child in oblivion.

A child wanders through the dark
Crying, searching, ever lost
Lost within the dungeon stark
This is kind protection's cost.

Shields of hate and walls of rage
Moat of grief, fort of mistrust
What was haven is now a cage
Blocking out love with grief's chill gusts.

The walls are stone, void of spirit
The maze is filled with soulless things
Only the child within the deepest pit
To a tenuous life still clings.

But one stolen from light cannot live long
Eyes shadowed and soulless show only death
Soon toppled must be the fortress strong
Else the child within will never again draw breath.

* * *

Warrior's Heart

Face of stone
Standing apart
Does the warrior have a heart?

Shadowed soul
Blood-soaked blade
Is the warrior e'er afraid?

Red-veiled eyes
Storm above
Can the warrior someday know love?

Hardened heart
Battle mind
Does the warrior know how to be kind?

Chains of hate
Eyes wintry
Will the warrior e'er be free?

* * *

I Am No Warrior

I am no warrior-
I am a fighter.

Warriors abide by a code of honor-
Do right
Be merciful
Protect the weak
Have a conscience
Let your foe have an equal chance.

I am not merciful.
I have no conscience.
I do whatever is needed to defeat my enemy.

A warrior disarms the opponent-
And lets them retrieve their weapon.
I disarm my opponent-
And then I run them through.

I admire warriors.
I envy them their honor
Their compassion
Their weaknesses that are truly strengths.
But I am not a warrior.

I am cold of heart and hard of soul
And I do unto vermin
As they do unto me.

* * *

Dare to See

Steel flashes, biting into bone
All around are vermin dead
And on your blade the color red
Dripping down to soak dark loam.

Dare you think of vermin lives?
Do they have children? Mothers? Wives?
Dare you wonder who now cries
For vermin dead and vermin lives?

Fury twists the warrior's face
Thinking of naught but vermin lies
Not caring as the foebeast dies
Only hating the vermin race.

Dare you care for vermin souls?
Do they dream of lifelong goals?
Dare you wonder of the roles
Played by hated vermin souls?

Pleas for mercy split the air
The foebeast thinks of mate and child
But your blade is quick and temper riled.
The pleading gaze becomes death's blank stare.

Dare you meet the vermin's gaze?
Will caring slow your deadly blades?
Dare you see through hatred's haze
Yourself within the foebeast's gaze?
 

* * *

The Child Listens
 

"Listen, youngling, listen well:
Of evil vermin I will tell.
Foxes, weasels, stoats, and rats,
Ferrets, martens, wildcats.
Slavers, killers, liars all-
Trust a vermin and you'll fall."
The child listens.

"I'm sorry, youngling, but it's time-
Listen to the war bells chime.
I must leave to destroy vermin.
My blade hungers for revenge of kin
Wait for me; I shall return
Unless my body on the pyre burns."
The child waits.

"Listen, youngling, to my tale:
Your father did do battle well.
He fought bravely and did not flee,
But he met one more skilled than he.
I'm sorry, young one, I really am,
But your father will never return again."
The child weeps.

"Hello, youngling, and what do you want?
Training in the warrior's art?
You've learned to hate, now learn to kill
With blade and bow, might and skill.
Never trust a vermin's word
No truth from them has ever been heard."
The child learns.

"Well now, youngling, you're in a fix.
With my blade at your throat, don't try any tricks.
You call me vermin, but see beyond the weasel face.
Do not say I'm evil because of my race.
Leave now, youngling, and remember this, my plea:
If I were vermin, would I set you free?"
The child flees.

The child listens to the words of what defines vermin.
The child waits for a father to return from a battle where hatred always wins.
The child weeps for a father's loss, and prejudice is fixed in stone.
The child learns to kill, and hatred is condoned.
The child flees from the truth, unable to face that the teachings might be wrong-
and the 'vermin' might be right.

* * *

Twilight

White
Light
Laughter of a child
See the world through shining eyes
Sunlit forests, bright spring fields
All is right.
All is light.
All is white.

Black
Dark
Screams of grief and loss
See the world in black and white
Vermin evil, goodbeasts good
All is dead.
All is dark.
All is black.

Gray
Fade away
Whispers of good and evil merged to neither
See the world cloaked in twilight
Ending day.
All is gray.
Fades away.

* * *

Death

Impossible to believe
Impossible to accept
The fact that one, once so
Full of life, full of energy
Now lies, unmoving, unseeing
Not breathing
Not speaking
Dead.

* * *

When a Youth becomes a Warrior

When a youth becomes a warrior
It is not a time for joy
For a warrior’s life causes one to age quickly
To be no longer an innocent girl or boy.

When a young one becomes a warrior
Youth is taken from him
The sight of death, the taste of blood,
Killing others to win…

When a child becomes a warrior
The innocence of youth is stolen
Muffled is the laughter and joy
Of one who once played in a forest glen.

That the young would not become warriors
Would instead cling to childhood
Instead of aging far too soon
And having to cause death and draw blood.

* * *

Northlands

Land of ice, land of snow,
Unchanged now from long ago.
Longest day, longest night,
Endless darkness, endless light.
The wild North grants life to few
And forges survivors all anew.
Those who can live in the fickle Northland
Are forcefully shaped by her pitiless hand.
She freezes blood and hearts and tears,
And any who are able to persevere
Become as cold as this harsh frontier.
For this wild country knows no law
Save that of death and that of claw.
Frozen beauty, deadly light
All is cold, all is white.

* * *

A Plague of Hares

{What does this have to do with Riala?  Well, she kept being talked to by hares at Fort Ruddler... so eventually every time she met a hare she thought "A plague of hares..." So.}

Longears waggle laughingly
Duck and run, bob and weave
All these beasts, I do believe,
Exist for one reason- to plague me!

Go into the cellar- see a hare
Then into the barracks- and they're there.
If I were able to fly through the air,
I believe even there would be a hare!

Plagued by long ears at every turn
Fur of gray, of dust, of brown,
In highest tower, and remote downs.
When home I go, the hares also return!

Go into the forest- see a hare
Then into the Northlands- and they're there.
My nicest dreams all turn into nightmare
For even in my dreams are longeared hares!

* * *

Hate

{This was written as an assignment at creative writing camp.  We had to write a poem about a strong emotion without using the actual word of the emotion.}

Beginning as a seed, dark and small and painful

Fed by warmth, by burning fires deep within

Growing, all thorns and black and blood

Sick beauty fascinating the eyes

Shimmering and deadly, a hell-touched vine

Curling round the mind, the soul

Obsessing, entrapping, agonizing

Twining about, devouring light

A vine feeding off a once-strong tree

Until the soul-tree is but a shriveled trunk

No longer sustaining, supporting, controlling the vine

But now sustained, supported, controlled

By its own seed.

To tear one from the other is to kill the tree

Destroy the half-life that the vine supports

And then the vine, black and gnarled

A thousand thorns dripping shadow-cruel poison

Spreads from tree to ground to tree

Until all are willingly entangled in its choking embrace.