Dwarven City

In my dreams

I stand before a wall

of perfectly aged stone

That crumbles at the mere touch.

Inside lies a more perfect beauty-

The city within.


I stumble up the grand, weathered steps

and lose my thoughts to the waterfall

that trickles down across the city

and through the silfr mines.

where the sun reflects off the water

and dances on the simple slivers of silver.


I continue on my way

and wander into the keep

where the ruler, the king, the jarl

sits high upon his Dwarven relic

and watches his city from the understone.


There, I wait and listen to stories of old,

from the great, dreadful tales of the mighty dragons

and their dark and treacherous rule

to their most foul leader, a corruptant of dragonbane,

to the legends of those born to speak the dragon tongue;

I wait and listen.


At the water-filled brim of nightfall

I clamber up to the highest peak

to the roof of the temple of their goddess

and gaze at the sky.

Moons or a deeper amber and oaken ash

fill this black canvas

and are bordered by the lives of fallen heros.

I ponder a moment and let my mind slip into Vallhalla

and I watch these heroes live off the lives they have lost

as I fall into darkness.


On the daybreak of the 8th of my visit

I stand at the gates of a once and still great city

and continue on my foot trodden journey

down a tripstone path into danger below

and mark my way deep into the heart

of the wilderness of my home. 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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