Oh gosh! That's cool, and also terrifying to the 88 introvert part of me. XD
Yeah, of course it is! Oh, do you mind me copying the link and giving it to m teachers? Oh, and like, to post it and share it to the world too, that'd be great
Um, you teaches? I guess. No, not the world please!
Alright, let me take a swing at this thread with something I came up with in 8th grade... Prepare to cringe, for the topic/plot goes all over the place, and there is no true rhyming scheme, which makes it a bit difficult to discern rhythm and tempo.
Tećrans Fight: The Warrior of Winter
I tread through the snow, With Alúmanam, my blade, And the Frost, it bites, As mankind's bane.
I challenge mine enemies they of the Frost, By thousands and thousands a score, Yet more are replaced then had ever been before. As I trudge, I am caught, and my ankles are locked, And I fear for my life, that has not yet begun. But I force myself free, and slay them that grasped, And they fall to blend in with the cold harsh white mask.
And through the hoar, That gift of Frore, O'ershadowed by none, But by the son of Fuarú the Victor the adversary of all, the one who will slay me if e'er I fall.
I ponder my love Oh what utter humanity, When she one day discovers my true mortality When i lay, gored and forgotten, Silent as stone, And oh, the pain of perishing alone
My strength is diminished, All hope is now lost, But fight on, I must, What e're the cost, Though their blows be e're increasing, My passion be unceasing, And so onward I fight, Through chilling day and frigid night, That mankinds struggle, and lettaru's plight Shall soon be ended. Oh that it might!
This futile struggle, though it seems all for not, Is great amongst gifts of splendor, wrought, that it may Grant The Aged One relief, and shorten their strife, Against the cold that wields a knife.
And so I fight, I conquer and slay, With my aluminum sword, a true weapon, nay. But a shovel, and the enemy is no more then snow, And the edge of the road is as far as I go. I trudge through snow, be it an inch, a foot, more, Though steep is the struggle that is laid out before, So onward I push, with no power but of will, Till ice, my bane, and my enemy I kill.
My reward is not held, nor seen, but by me, 'tis a smile of gratitude for this passage of safety.
Yet soon shalt the summer sun drive the thawed thralls away, To let all mankind laugh, run, and play, But until then, dear reader, what is to become, Of the warrior of winter, till his duty is done?
Alright, let me take a swing at this thread with something I came up with in 8th grade... Prepare to cringe, for the topic/plot goes all over the place, and there is no true rhyming scheme, which makes it a bit difficult to discern rhythm and tempo.
Tećrans Fight: The Warrior of Winter
I tread through the snow, With Alúmanam, my blade, And the Frost, it bites, As mankind's bane.
I challenge mine enemies they of the Frost, By thousands and thousands a score, Yet more are replaced then had ever been before. As I trudge, I am caught, and my ankles are locked, And I fear for my life, that has not yet begun. But I force myself free, and slay them that grasped, And they fall to blend in with the cold harsh white mask.
And through the hoar, That gift of Frore, O'ershadowed by none, But by the son of Fuarú the Victor the adversary of all, the one who will slay me if e'er I fall.
I ponder my love Oh what utter humanity, When she one day discovers my true mortality When i lay, gored and forgotten, Silent as stone, And oh, the pain of perishing alone
My strength is diminished, All hope is now lost, But fight on, I must, What e're the cost, Though their blows be e're increasing, My passion be unceasing, And so onward I fight, Through chilling day and frigid night, That mankinds struggle, and lettaru's plight Shall soon be ended. Oh that it might!
This futile struggle, though it seems all for not, Is great amongst gifts of splendor, wrought, that it may Grant The Aged One relief, and shorten their strife, Against the cold that wields a knife.
And so I fight, I conquer and slay, With my aluminum sword, a true weapon, nay. But a shovel, and the enemy is no more then snow, And the edge of the road is as far as I go. I trudge through snow, be it an inch, a foot, more, Though steep is the struggle that is laid out before, So onward I push, with no power but of will, Till ice, my bane, and my enemy I kill.
My reward is not held, nor seen, but by me, 'tis a smile of gratitude for this passage of safety.
Yet soon shalt the summer sun drive the thawed thralls away, To let all mankind laugh, run, and play, But until then, dear reader, what is to become, Of the warrior of winter, till his duty is done?
Alright, let me take a swing at this thread with something I came up with in 8th grade... Prepare to cringe, for the topic/plot goes all over the place, and there is no true rhyming scheme, which makes it a bit difficult to discern rhythm and tempo.
Tećrans Fight: The Warrior of Winter
I tread through the snow, With Alúmanam, my blade, And the Frost, it bites, As mankind's bane.
I challenge mine enemies they of the Frost, By thousands and thousands a score, Yet more are replaced then had ever been before. As I trudge, I am caught, and my ankles are locked, And I fear for my life, that has not yet begun. But I force myself free, and slay them that grasped, And they fall to blend in with the cold harsh white mask.
And through the hoar, That gift of Frore, O'ershadowed by none, But by the son of Fuarú the Victor the adversary of all, the one who will slay me if e'er I fall.
I ponder my love Oh what utter humanity, When she one day discovers my true mortality When i lay, gored and forgotten, Silent as stone, And oh, the pain of perishing alone
My strength is diminished, All hope is now lost, But fight on, I must, What e're the cost, Though their blows be e're increasing, My passion be unceasing, And so onward I fight, Through chilling day and frigid night, That mankinds struggle, and lettaru's plight Shall soon be ended. Oh that it might!
This futile struggle, though it seems all for not, Is great amongst gifts of splendor, wrought, that it may Grant The Aged One relief, and shorten their strife, Against the cold that wields a knife.
And so I fight, I conquer and slay, With my aluminum sword, a true weapon, nay. But a shovel, and the enemy is no more then snow, And the edge of the road is as far as I go. I trudge through snow, be it an inch, a foot, more, Though steep is the struggle that is laid out before, So onward I push, with no power but of will, Till ice, my bane, and my enemy I kill.
My reward is not held, nor seen, but by me, 'tis a smile of gratitude for this passage of safety.
Yet soon shalt the summer sun drive the thawed thralls away, To let all mankind laugh, run, and play, But until then, dear reader, what is to become, Of the warrior of winter, till his duty is done?
Wow! You're really good at poetry.
I'm much better now, though. Its been two years since I wrote that, and im pretty sure I have better rhythm than I used to have
Alright, let me take a swing at this thread with something I came up with in 8th grade... Prepare to cringe, for the topic/plot goes all over the place, and there is no true rhyming scheme, which makes it a bit difficult to discern rhythm and tempo.
Tećrans Fight: The Warrior of Winter
I tread through the snow, With Alúmanam, my blade, And the Frost, it bites, As mankind's bane.
I challenge mine enemies they of the Frost, By thousands and thousands a score, Yet more are replaced then had ever been before. As I trudge, I am caught, and my ankles are locked, And I fear for my life, that has not yet begun. But I force myself free, and slay them that grasped, And they fall to blend in with the cold harsh white mask.
And through the hoar, That gift of Frore, O'ershadowed by none, But by the son of Fuarú the Victor the adversary of all, the one who will slay me if e'er I fall.
I ponder my love Oh what utter humanity, When she one day discovers my true mortality When i lay, gored and forgotten, Silent as stone, And oh, the pain of perishing alone
My strength is diminished, All hope is now lost, But fight on, I must, What e're the cost, Though their blows be e're increasing, My passion be unceasing, And so onward I fight, Through chilling day and frigid night, That mankinds struggle, and lettaru's plight Shall soon be ended. Oh that it might!
This futile struggle, though it seems all for not, Is great amongst gifts of splendor, wrought, that it may Grant The Aged One relief, and shorten their strife, Against the cold that wields a knife.
And so I fight, I conquer and slay, With my aluminum sword, a true weapon, nay. But a shovel, and the enemy is no more then snow, And the edge of the road is as far as I go. I trudge through snow, be it an inch, a foot, more, Though steep is the struggle that is laid out before, So onward I push, with no power but of will, Till ice, my bane, and my enemy I kill.
My reward is not held, nor seen, but by me, 'tis a smile of gratitude for this passage of safety.
Yet soon shalt the summer sun drive the thawed thralls away, To let all mankind laugh, run, and play, But until then, dear reader, what is to become, Of the warrior of winter, till his duty is done?
Wow. . . this feels like something from LotR. . . what an amazing job!
![[derp]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/YqNTPqyQUocVMYXZgUAI.png)
![[h]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/nPCskakrdhDERqIVGKuw.png)
![[h]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/lOAvnqZAwGbbMRBuxiWY.png)
