With meek diligence, each militant
creature's will has been done.
They speak shrill in quick cheeps, trills and clicks,
features filtered from sun.
Trees built within creak, filled with sticks
whittled by fingers gone numb.
Peace kills the mist as it creeps pilferless,
only their singers have tongues.
They linger in dust covered dining rooms,
hungered for knowledge, dying to loom
spoken tales woven over the timeless doom,
flavorless, trying to consume.
Exhumed souls seem fable ridden,
but their failures aren't written, just told.
Passed from older generations to the newest ones next,
but if only they knew.
With venerable patience
the young sit and listen with open eyes.
Yet they close their minds to what's sung
with no notions of truth.
From general translation they misunderstand
the statements their elders describe.
Feeling mostly awe in the language,
and wonder as it plays what they've always felt deep inside.
"We struggled to survive, helpless at best,
yet primed and ready,
budgeted our lives, selfless and stressed,
with crimes as deadly
as not budging would've been,
for the elvish repression finds so many.
Eleven hundred wooden men stormed in
twelve oppressive lines, swords steady.
Our makeshift bows and arrows, and shields
fashioned from broken barrels were no match.
Firebombing was an undesired option,
but it was all we had to throw back.
Against the druids it simply proved useless,
who knew these subhumans don't catch.
As the revolt happened, we withdrew and retreated,
threw the doors closed with bolts latched.
Our sole chance never made it to the frontlines,
we were done by sunrise, whole branches
of family trees dismantled,
we can't regenerate limbs, let alone bloodlines.
The full encampment, broken, blasted
... But one managed to pretend and lay limp.
The impregnated wimperer who we now call goddess,
turned the tables where our ancestral pages flipped"
But the climax is funny, only the children applaud.
The laureates laugh with a silent ***ophony.
Knowing all the small ones think that it's false.
The fraud is in the truth of the con.
More useful than not ...
... Although, for how long?
The battle's still present as toddlers turn to adolescents.
Spoiled only when they stop doubting the song.