Hello, fellow berserkers! I mostly write small rhymes and short poems once in a while. I hope you'll like them.
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Fellicisimus' poetry and writing
- Thread starter fellicisimus
- Start date
Your scorching flame lights up the way,
Attracting hearts of many
The path you take – the way they make
With aspiration so uncanny
Your blazing fate suppresses all awake
Exposing them to self-oblivion
They are the crops you soon will take
Reaping them of flesh and meaning
Your divine halo burns away
All mercy, tragedy, forgiveness,
Exalted feet standing on the fates
Of gnawed bones building up the surface
Of those that are nothing, but your slaves
Deserving servitude as they have fitness
It is your path – the deaths they take,
The screams and shouts – your ascension
Accept the wings and your new way
Stripping of your human inhibition.
You are the king – the ruler of all lands
People’s, gods’ and demons’ lives –
Being grasped within your hands
But there is one you can’t pretend to have…
Attracting hearts of many
The path you take – the way they make
With aspiration so uncanny
Your blazing fate suppresses all awake
Exposing them to self-oblivion
They are the crops you soon will take
Reaping them of flesh and meaning
Your divine halo burns away
All mercy, tragedy, forgiveness,
Exalted feet standing on the fates
Of gnawed bones building up the surface
Of those that are nothing, but your slaves
Deserving servitude as they have fitness
It is your path – the deaths they take,
The screams and shouts – your ascension
Accept the wings and your new way
Stripping of your human inhibition.
You are the king – the ruler of all lands
People’s, gods’ and demons’ lives –
Being grasped within your hands
But there is one you can’t pretend to have…
Inspired by amazing stories told by Zack Hemsey.
My thoughts are hollow, soul's weak
I prey - my sword be swift, I cannot flee
Of all I have, my powers that tremble
And millions more to be dismembered
Everything due to belong, now lost
Hopes and dreams feverishly sizzling in the fire
My sword and I the only standing in this world
Slicing, rupturing through the abominable mire
I cannot see, I cannot smell,
No room for feelings that can dwell
Too many sufferings you've made
Now killing you would be my fate
Without thoughts, without soul
The only thing to outcome
I am the one to kill you all
Now see what I've become
My thoughts are hollow, soul's weak
I prey - my sword be swift, I cannot flee
Of all I have, my powers that tremble
And millions more to be dismembered
Everything due to belong, now lost
Hopes and dreams feverishly sizzling in the fire
My sword and I the only standing in this world
Slicing, rupturing through the abominable mire
I cannot see, I cannot smell,
No room for feelings that can dwell
Too many sufferings you've made
Now killing you would be my fate
Without thoughts, without soul
The only thing to outcome
I am the one to kill you all
Now see what I've become
A crown of thorn, covering your brow,
Holds the life of the kingdom and its king
Your story's grim it is and were -
Of struggle and unforgiving kink.
The heart is chained by wreathing mind,
Being pierced and holding no emotion.
The bleeding martyr's delving into night
To find the instigator of concoction.
Your silent footsteps see no end,
Foreshadowing inevitable slaughter.
In this unending harsh and dark
Prevails unyielding spirit's faithful order
A blackened sea of thought and strength
Rushing through abyss, fencing with no end
The words of providence he holds
Are sapid, bitter, sharp and cold.
Coincidence is not his grace.
Causality - the master to his kind.
Scaring away the inevitable doom and fate
Skullknight will never flee. He will always fight.
Holds the life of the kingdom and its king
Your story's grim it is and were -
Of struggle and unforgiving kink.
The heart is chained by wreathing mind,
Being pierced and holding no emotion.
The bleeding martyr's delving into night
To find the instigator of concoction.
Your silent footsteps see no end,
Foreshadowing inevitable slaughter.
In this unending harsh and dark
Prevails unyielding spirit's faithful order
A blackened sea of thought and strength
Rushing through abyss, fencing with no end
The words of providence he holds
Are sapid, bitter, sharp and cold.
Coincidence is not his grace.
Causality - the master to his kind.
Scaring away the inevitable doom and fate
Skullknight will never flee. He will always fight.
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The following is not Berserk-related, but takes place in mevieval times of war and despair in the world of mine. The story of this character - Sardas - doesn't end with his physical death, though.
As often it will be carelessly said:
“A routine of weapons and flames” -
A disaster to kids and shame to the dead
Trampled by ambitions of reigns.
With the armless burdened and enslaved,
Put in the pits for supine people’s display
The story of a great fighter is to flame
Of the one that carries no forgiveness.
From the first weakling’s breath by the cold wall,
Embraced by his mother trembling in the stall,
The only thought kept him fighting well:
The last tender words she whispered to him then:
«I will certainly find you, I wish to see you again».
Enough to make one survive to the end.
His journey started: day after day
Crushing and slicing his way to the aim
Killing people was like a jogtrot
Their screams and blood stirring the thought –
Of the face that he wanted to contemplate
Of the smile and words he desired to say.
The happy face of the mother he dreamt
That timid smile above the tiny neck
Thin wrinkled fingers scrawny to touch
That he clenched during the night.
They were cold as the handle of the sword
Like her breath – hot as feverish throe
Of the everyday pain with no end
But tomorrow he has to fight fresh again.
Soon the dream vanished like moon –
The sunbeams revealing the closing wound.
Therefore, he stood beneath the eyes of many
In his glittering armor, reflecting the sun.
His eyes were sharp, his stance - steady
Against the people whose life had merely begun…
The overwhelming flow of battlefield’s heat
And blood’s rapid surge on the final hit
Soon got him to the freedom he sought to achieve.
His scarred face was graced with joy of relief.
He was about to touch, to feel and to see.
Tears of joy filled his face, as he fell to his feet.
To soon stab him with truth which concealed:
His mother was dead more than twenty years before
At the birth of Sardas, the Demon of the Pit.
The sword cracked in half. The spirit was gone.
All of a sudden, the battle was lost. He was forlorn.
The illusive memories burst out with cries of remorse.
Of the bittersweet hope, radiating what he had lost.
Soon he was back in his cradle, standing on the red sand,
With hundreds of eyes around starving for one’s end
His armor was shining, his blade was in hand.
His eyes almost crying - the cold handle driving him mad.
As if he had crushed the thin fingers and swiped away
Not the opponent, but his past’s smoldering flame.
To feel the pain and the stink that led him to possess
The glimmer of hope that canoodled him at night-rest.
By the narrow way of lance and sword
He sought the freedom of life – once and for all.
As often it will be carelessly said:
“A routine of weapons and flames” -
A disaster to kids and shame to the dead
Trampled by ambitions of reigns.
With the armless burdened and enslaved,
Put in the pits for supine people’s display
The story of a great fighter is to flame
Of the one that carries no forgiveness.
From the first weakling’s breath by the cold wall,
Embraced by his mother trembling in the stall,
The only thought kept him fighting well:
The last tender words she whispered to him then:
«I will certainly find you, I wish to see you again».
Enough to make one survive to the end.
His journey started: day after day
Crushing and slicing his way to the aim
Killing people was like a jogtrot
Their screams and blood stirring the thought –
Of the face that he wanted to contemplate
Of the smile and words he desired to say.
The happy face of the mother he dreamt
That timid smile above the tiny neck
Thin wrinkled fingers scrawny to touch
That he clenched during the night.
They were cold as the handle of the sword
Like her breath – hot as feverish throe
Of the everyday pain with no end
But tomorrow he has to fight fresh again.
Soon the dream vanished like moon –
The sunbeams revealing the closing wound.
Therefore, he stood beneath the eyes of many
In his glittering armor, reflecting the sun.
His eyes were sharp, his stance - steady
Against the people whose life had merely begun…
The overwhelming flow of battlefield’s heat
And blood’s rapid surge on the final hit
Soon got him to the freedom he sought to achieve.
His scarred face was graced with joy of relief.
He was about to touch, to feel and to see.
Tears of joy filled his face, as he fell to his feet.
To soon stab him with truth which concealed:
His mother was dead more than twenty years before
At the birth of Sardas, the Demon of the Pit.
The sword cracked in half. The spirit was gone.
All of a sudden, the battle was lost. He was forlorn.
The illusive memories burst out with cries of remorse.
Of the bittersweet hope, radiating what he had lost.
Soon he was back in his cradle, standing on the red sand,
With hundreds of eyes around starving for one’s end
His armor was shining, his blade was in hand.
His eyes almost crying - the cold handle driving him mad.
As if he had crushed the thin fingers and swiped away
Not the opponent, but his past’s smoldering flame.
To feel the pain and the stink that led him to possess
The glimmer of hope that canoodled him at night-rest.
By the narrow way of lance and sword
He sought the freedom of life – once and for all.
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The first line is the reference to Path of Exile (worth checking the lore btw!).
The eclipse.
The absence of meaning and mercy,
A house to death and decay,
Homage to pitiless angels,
Able to ruin everyone's fate.
Your story has hardly been grim
Before witnessing five godless angels above
On the tower of broken hopes and dreams
of millions, with one person in charge.
During the delirious feast of rebirth
Of that butcher as kin of the astral world.
Sacrificing all the precious things he has got -
His family, friends and ideals are now past -
For the only malicious dream of which he has thought
That is nothing, but based foolish lust
To, till the last drop of blood,
Let them be relieved of flesh and be torn apart,
Just saying two words - "I sacrifice",
Bestowing upon them the blackened fever of light.
A death they can never avoid, never escape
For being faithful, dependant, in love... all, in vain.
Their feet will never touch ground,
Nor will they savour the light.
Eternal shining turning black as mound
Angels - into death bringers, humans - into merciless device.
Far beyond muscle power and oath,
Beyond people's expectations and mind
Instruments of virtue always bring the painful fulfillment -
Called the "brand of sacrifice".
Engulfed by the vortex of hungry souls,
Delving into the very marrow of world's rotting root
You are to witness the true face of beloved one,
Whose true ideas you thought to have understood...
The eclipse.
The absence of meaning and mercy,
A house to death and decay,
Homage to pitiless angels,
Able to ruin everyone's fate.
Your story has hardly been grim
Before witnessing five godless angels above
On the tower of broken hopes and dreams
of millions, with one person in charge.
During the delirious feast of rebirth
Of that butcher as kin of the astral world.
Sacrificing all the precious things he has got -
His family, friends and ideals are now past -
For the only malicious dream of which he has thought
That is nothing, but based foolish lust
To, till the last drop of blood,
Let them be relieved of flesh and be torn apart,
Just saying two words - "I sacrifice",
Bestowing upon them the blackened fever of light.
A death they can never avoid, never escape
For being faithful, dependant, in love... all, in vain.
Their feet will never touch ground,
Nor will they savour the light.
Eternal shining turning black as mound
Angels - into death bringers, humans - into merciless device.
Far beyond muscle power and oath,
Beyond people's expectations and mind
Instruments of virtue always bring the painful fulfillment -
Called the "brand of sacrifice".
Engulfed by the vortex of hungry souls,
Delving into the very marrow of world's rotting root
You are to witness the true face of beloved one,
Whose true ideas you thought to have understood...
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Far away across the sea
On a glade of leaden dreams
A sword is reaching up to me
Whispering the legends of its sins.
Its heavy blade resembles slab
Submitting to the sole master.
The only one to wield and grab
Has left this land tired of luster.
Far away from that distant land
I hold a story of memorable dreams
Of the legendary swordsman,
to whose story we’ll never see an end…
Happy birthday, Miura-sensei. Thank you for everything.
On a glade of leaden dreams
A sword is reaching up to me
Whispering the legends of its sins.
Its heavy blade resembles slab
Submitting to the sole master.
The only one to wield and grab
Has left this land tired of luster.
Far away from that distant land
I hold a story of memorable dreams
Of the legendary swordsman,
to whose story we’ll never see an end…
Happy birthday, Miura-sensei. Thank you for everything.