A poem written from Raistlin Majere's point of view: "Eternal Torment" Who hears you crying in the night When you are up all alone? I cry not for the world, Nor for anyone but myself. I myself have been tormented as a child But I have dealt with it I cursed them behind their backs And vowed that I would rise above them. Who hears me crying in the night When I lie awake in bed I cry not for you But only for myself. Whosoever calleth me a fool Shall shake their fists in rage For it is I who do not care About their apparent folly. I am the master of them now But that is not enough They know not what is best for them And they are of no use to me. Scatter, little people, scatter all Like leaves in the wind I shall crush you Feel your fragile limbs break beneath my grip Who is laughing now? And who will hear you crying in the night When you sit up all alone I know I will not hear you For my reasons are my own. A poem in the point of view of Caramon Majere: "Keep one eye on the sky" Keep one eye on the sky, dear brother And see how it darkens as we speak Keep one ear open, my brother And listen to the howl of the wind The lightning surges and the thunder cracks But I am not afraid For I know your ways, brother It is just the rage of your mind Go on thinking what you will, my brother You cannot change the world The darkness calls for you And reaches for your weakening form Be strong, dear brother For I have given you my strength All I can do is sit And wait for you to return The light is fading fast, my dear brother And death awaits you in the abyss Just when I had reached my hand out to you You could not keep from slipping in A poem describing Kitiara Uth Matar in her loneliness "Untitled" A second passed. Then another. As she lay in her bed, alone. The Emptiness filled her soul and tortured it, Like a blowing storm would torture a Frail oak's leaf. She missed her brothers. Her friends. She avoided being weak at All costs, battling her Way through the world, alone. She wore the Crown now. The Price... No regrets. She wouldn't of Changed a second. Power. Finally she had Power, Sweet like Elven Nectar. She had everything in her palm now But herself. She could have everything... But what she no longer could have, was Freedom.
The above poetry was not written by myself and I in no way claim the above work as my own.