Поэтические творения Вашего покорного слуги, Из несознательного... Опции

[Waylander]

Нашёл кое-что, решил что можно придать этому форму, отшлифовать и повесить. Всё одно лучше, чем пыль собирать...

Немножко из очень старого, но часто вспоминаемого:

Dancing Blades


The Blades are dancing in moonlight,
They clash and cross in endless fight.
Swords strike out sparks, which upward fly
And turn to stars in murky sky.

The Dancing Blades, both Good and Evil,
Possess no soul from God or Devil.
Swords fight for one who’s them in hands
And they drew blood in any lands.

Blades’ battle’s beautiful like dance,
It’s overwhelming and intense.
Swords are invincible, though fighters aren’t.
They die in this eternal hunt.

‘Tis nothing that the warriors breed,
They fight and win, they die and bleed.
They gamble with their life at stake,
Enjoy the swordplay for its sake.


The fray goes on, and none is asked,
Whether he wants this game to last.
You scape it only with your death,
When Blade of yours goes last to sheath…

И ещё одно, навеянное произведениями ныне покойного писателя Дэвида Геммела:

The Silver Path


Not the first and not the last
A man is standing on the Path
Onward he’s walking in the vast,
The vast which lies around the Path.

And full of Darkness is this dale.
It’s filled with Pain and Dread and Wail.
A Silver Path straight lies threw Murk
In which all demons of pit lurk.
And all our fears wait us there
Our wishes, terrors, sins are bare.

Much people do give in temptation,
Such ones will never find salvation.
Once you’ve stepped off the Silver Path
You can’t get back; you’ll have no chance,
For monsters haunt you near the trail
And all they wait is you to fail.
And you will not avoid their claws
This place has its unbending laws.

Few can survive exquisite torment.
But some escape within a moment,
‘Course men have very frail essence.
But steadiness must be immense
To end your journey on the path,
As rare valiant person does.

Your every step can be the last,
If only leads you to the vast…

А эти три из одного цикла, если можно так выразиться.
Вроде, когда-то "Драконов" было больше, я явственно помню зелёного и серебряного, но, видимо, часть из них потерялась. Если мне не изменяет память, они должны были представлять собой человеческие чувства, и те трое, что остались, рисуют, к сожалению, довольно мрачную картину.
Если не ошибаюсь, оставшиеся представлены в хронологическом порядке, хотя, вряд ли это имеет значение...

Gold Dragon

The Dragon flies high in the sky,
And till he flies, the world’s alive.
The Dragon’s body shines in sun.
His scales glare. Sun beams run
On golden face with sharp-shine horns,
Which Dragon cleans in clear morns.


Gold Dragon flies above low plain
One day of His eternal reign.
He looks at it, with glance not blinking,
The Dragon of His kingdom’s thinking.
He spreads His wings and flies away
To quench a thirst on this long day.


Gold Dragon sat on a high cliff.
In lake beneath Him lies a leaf.
The others fall from dark green trees.
And fallen come all red beneath…
It does not worry Him at all,
He is almighty in His world.


Black blooded men hide in the wood.
If one could kill Him, then they would.
Gold Dragon can’t oppose their force
And falls down dead hacked by their swords…

The slayers cut the golden head,
And Dragon’s realm now is dead.

Black Dragon

The Dragon flies in night-black sky.
And till He flies He looks for prize.
His opal hide reflects moonlight
He flies at night; it is His right.
His body black as oak tar
Cannot endure shine of the Star.


The Dragon comes at moonless nights.
His evil soul Dragon hides.
Black Dragon’s heart is ice-like cold.
He’s mighty, powerful, and bold.
Black Dragon fears but no one,
There’s no such force to make Him run.


Black Dragon leaves his deep dark cave
To have a hunt in His own way.
He seeks for gold and blazing steel.
His gloomy depot to refill.
He sees a stronghold at long last,
Its guards their sight in darkness cast.


The fight was bloody, quick, and pain.
The men fought staunchly – all in vain.
The Dragon roamed through the keep,
His claws red flesh easily reap.

Black Dragon gets to His lone nest,
Where on His treasure He will rest.

Red Dragon


The Dragon flies in dirty sky,
And till He flies the blood flows high.
His ruby eyes give world a glare;
He seeks death, torture and despair;
He looks for blood that can be spilt
For His great hunger to be filled.


‘Tis the Black Moon and the Red Sun
He tries to reach. His route does run
Through muddy waters, bloody deeds,
And Fields of Sorrow, where one bleeds
For all his sins to be released…
All for Red Dragon to be pleased.


The vulture looks for victim’s moan,
But once the scythe shall meet a stone.
One shall oppose Red Dragon’s might,
Bring righteous vengeance in a fight.
The fiend shall perish in One’s fist,
And Dragon’s deeds shall not be missed.


But till that time blood river runs.
And none can stop the Dragon’s hunts.
Red Dragon seeks for a new one,
He could exploit for brutal fun…

More people die, new ruin lies,
Fresh victims cry… Red Dragon flies.

Ну, и, как говорится, в заключение сегодняшнего вечера, кое-что из маниакально-депрессивного. Самое интересное, что сие творение было навеяно сонетами Шекспира. Звучит, конечно, диковато...
Не уверен, что имено скрыто в акрониме названия, но это, наверное, не важно, ибо, сколько я не ломал себе голову над этой загадкой, ничего вспомнить я не смог.

R. S.


The frost, which comes from far away,
Makes cold both my heart and breathe.
I feel so numb; I’m close to faint,
But still I’m coming to my death.

The tough wind blows my mind away,
My feet are drowning in deep snow,
I even can’t recall my name…
Yet that means nothing till I go!

My clothes get heavier… I know,
I may not make another step.
Snow avalanches from the sky,
And I keep going; it’s my dept.

My brethren go through blizzard cold,
Submit to death they lot defy,
And bravely meet their vicious fate.
Wide-open eyes pierce silver sky…

Sunshine creeps gloomy through the clouds
And steals my last hope to survive.
Though I’m alone, – my pals are gone,
In present day I am alive.

I feel Death breathing in my face,
And to my doom now I am tame,
But I get on, because I know
I’ll get the one, who is to blame!



I understand, my time’s at hand,
And sometimes I envy the dead.
At least, I know that ones who died
Won’t ever have to move ahead…