Tag: Nature

Norse, Poetry

The Children of Loki

The Royal Octopus

Three children born beneath the stars,
Marked by fate and battle scars.
Not monsters, no, but souls denied,
By gods who feared what they’d not tried.

First came Fenrir, wild and bold,
A wolf pup with a heart of gold.
He played with Tyr and chased the light,
But gods grew pale at signs of might.
They fed him lies, they forged a chain,
They bound him fast in fear and shame.
He howled not rage, but loss and grief,
Betrayed by hands that swore relief.

Then Jörmungandr, born of sea,
A serpent child, long, strange, and free.
He coiled through oceans, calm and vast,
No threat, until the verdict passed.
Cast out to depths, alone to grow,
With none to teach, and none to know.
They called him beast, a foe, a blight,
For daring just to be, not fight.

And Hel, the girl with silent grace,
Half in death, and half in place.
They saw her skin, one side so pale,
And called her cursed, and doomed her tale.
They banished her to rule the dead,
A crown of bones upon her head.
But never cruel, she kept the gate,
And held the lost with quiet fate.

Three children not of wrath, but wronged,
By gods whose hearts grew cold and strong.
Who feared the shape of what might be,
And punished them for prophecy.

But time turns slow, and tales return,
And fires rise, and oceans churn.
At Ragnarök, they rise not just
To fight, but to reclaim their trust.

Fenrir runs, the bindings break,
Not just for rage, but for love’s sake.
Jörmungandr coils, the world to brace,
To show the gods what they displaced.
And Hel stands calm as all things end,
The keeper of both foe and friend.

The gods will fall, as all things must,
And learn too late what’s fair and just.
For monsters come from fear, not birth—
And even outcasts can shake the earth.

©️ 2025

Poetry

Layers.

The Royal Octopus

She fell in silence, smooth and deep,
A trap of glass where none could weep.
The sky above—a distant call—
She dreamed of it, and climbed the wall.

She cast her thread with trembling care,
One silver line through stagnant air.
The climb began, her limbs unsure—
But hope was strong, and will was pure.

She circled slow, a fragile ring,
Each loop a small imagining.
She paused, she breathed, she spun once more—
Her silk unspooled, her muscles sore.

Around again, and higher still,
A prisoner moved by aching will.
The walls were slick, the curve was steep—
She spun through pain, she climbed through sleep.

Her legs began to quake and drag,
Each loop a burden, each pass a flag.
Her thread grew faint, her eyes grew dry,
Yet always—always—toward the sky.

Humans came. They laughed. They stared.
Some took pictures. None had cared.
She looked at them with pleading grace,
A ghost behind a polished case.

Still spinning—slower now, and thin—
Her body caved beneath her skin.
The silk was gone. The glass was tall.
She gave her last to climb that wall.

She curled beneath her silver thread,
A monument to where she bled.
Her eyes still held the blue above—
She died for sky, for light, for love.

And no one knew what she had tried—
They passed her by, and so she died.

Image by Shoody_Course_6925 via Reddit

2025 ©️

Poetry

Liam and the Lamp

The Royal Octopus

Liam was restless, the sky hung low,
Life was dull, the days moved slow.
Behind his shed, through mud and vine,
He found a lamp with an emerald shine.

He gave it a rub with a shrug, half-bold—
Out rose a shimmer of lavender and gold.
A woman emerged with stardust eyes,
Her voice was soft like lullabies.

“I’m Lyra,” she said, with a wistful sigh,
“A genie of wishes—three, then goodbye.”
“Ask what you will, but choose them wise.
Not all that glitters is truly a prize.”

“First,” said Liam, “I want success—
Fame, fortune, all the rest.”
Poof! In seconds, his name was known,
A world of applause, a glittering throne.

“Second,” he grinned, “make me adored.
Friends by the dozen, fans by the horde!”
And so it was—his phone rang nonstop,
Praise and selfies, he’d reached the top.

But soon came the asks, and the desperate cries:
“Wish for my sister,” “My brother just died.”
“Can you fix the world?” “Make hunger end.”
“Wish for us, Liam—be more than pretend.”

Their voices clung like vines to his name,
Every call was coated in effortless blame.
He’d wanted joy, but now bore their weight—
A million ol’ hands reaching all through his gate.

And so, for his third, he looked to the sky.
Then back at Lyra, with tears in his eye.
“I wish,” he said, “for all this to be done.
No more wishes for me—not for anyone.”

Her smile faintly dimmed. “You mean…?” she asked.
He nodded once. “I wish for your last.”

She staggered back, her light turned cold,
A shimmer of sorrow in silver and gold.
“Liam,” she whispered, “I lived for the giving…
But you’ve wished it away—ending my living.”

Yet, she bowed. As was her vow.
With a final glow, she vanished now.

The lamp turned dull, the silence grew—
And Liam sat in a world he once knew.

Alone with fame, alone with gold,
Alone with a wish far too cold.
And deep in his chest, it softly aches—
The cost of a wish that a kind heart breaks.

©️ 2025

Poetry

The Stages

The Royal Octopus

Beneath the twilight’s dim-lit gaze,
I stumbled upon Death in a shadowed haze.
Cloaked in silence, a figure still,
Its presence burned, a frigid chill.

“No, not yet,” I cried, my voice a storm,
“This cannot be, it feels too warm.
The sun still rises, the world still turns,
Surely, Life’s flame still fiercely burns.”
But Death stood firm, no word it spoke,
Its eyes like mirrors, my hope it broke.

“How dare you come!” my fury roared,
“To snatch the dreams I’ve yet explored.
You thief of time, you cruel deceit,
I’ll rage until your grasp’s defeat!”
But Death stood patient, calm and still,
A shadow bound by fate’s own will

“Please,” I begged, with trembling plea,
“Take my years but leave them free.
Spare those I love, or delay your claim,
I’ll give you gold, I’ll bear the blame.”
Yet Death, unmoved, began to wane,
Its silence sharper than my pain.

A void engulfed me, vast and deep,
A bitter ocean where sorrows creep.
“What’s left for me?” I asked the dark,
“My heart, extinguished, bears no spark.”
And Death, though silent, seemed to sigh,
As stars wept tears across the sky.

Then light emerged, a subtle glow,
A whispered truth I came to know:
“Though Death may come, it does not sever,
For love and memory live forever.”
I reached for Death, no fear, no plea,
And walked with it, at last set free.

Through every stage, I met my end,
But Death, it seems, became my friend.

2025 ©️

Poetry

The Silent Killer

The Royal Octopus

Beneath the sky, so vast, so blue,
She whispers vengeance, cold and true.
No armies march, no cannons roar,
Her quiet fury settles the score.

The rivers rise, a creeping flood,
Turning streets to paths of mud.
The winds, they howl, with spiteful grace,
Tearing apart the human trace.

Her forests burn, a crimson pyre,
Fed by greed and mankind’s fire.
The earth she shakes, her anger deep,
A tremor wakes where cities sleep.

The oceans swell, their waves take hold,
Swallowing shores both young and old.
The ice retreats, her final plea,
As waters drown humanity.

No words she speaks, no threats she cries,
Her silence shames the loudest lies.
For every tree and every stone,
She claims what man would call his own.

We took her gifts, we scarred her face,
We mocked her patience, stole her grace.
Now she’s a shadow, cold and grim,
Her quiet vengeance grows within.

Beware the calm, the lulling peace,
For it’s her rage that will never cease.
A mother scorned, her justice clear—
She’s the silent killer we ought to fear.

2025 ©️

Poetry

A Circular Warning

The Royal Octopus

Beneath the moon’s soft silver glow,
Where mushrooms in a circle grow,
The fairy folk do dance and play,
Through starry night ’til break of day.

Their whispers drift upon the breeze,
Through ancient oaks and willow trees.
But heed this warning, mortal kin:
Beware the circle; don’t step in.

For those who cross the mystic ring
May hear the fey begin to sing.
A haunting tune, both sweet and sly,
Will steal your soul before you sigh.

Their laughter’s light, their forms are fair,
But tread too close and they’ll ensnare.
For fairies guard their sacred space,
And do not pardon human grace.

So leave their rings to moss and dew,
And let the fey their rites renew.
Respect the bounds of their domain,
Or risk the loss of heart and brain.

For those who scorn the fairy laws
Shall suffer fates with chilling claws.
A life bewitched, a path askew—
All this, and more, may fall on you.

So mind your step when woods are deep,
And leave the fey their secrets to keep.
For those who honor, they may bless,
But trespassers meet no kindness.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Theogony

The Royal Octopus

In darkness vast, where silence lay,
The cosmos churned in disarray.
Chaos reigned, the formless might,
A timeless void, devoid of light.

From Chaos’ womb came Earth, the bold,
Gaia, mother, fierce and old.
She swelled with mountains, streams, and trees,
A world from void, a breath, a breeze.

Next came Tartarus, dark and deep,
Where secrets dark and shadows sleep.
And Eros too, love’s spark, was born,
The binding force of dusk and dawn.

Gaia then with starry Sky,
Uranus, her mate on high,
Brought forth the Titans, fierce and grand,
Born from Earth’s creative hand.

Cronus, youngest, sly and proud,
In darkness forged a plan avowed—
To rend his father’s rule apart,
A savage claim, a ruthless heart.

The blood of Uranus, cast to sea,
Gave birth to more divinity:
The Furies, fierce, with eyes afire,
And Aphrodite, soft desire.

Yet Cronus ruled with iron fist,
Each child of his, condemned, dismissed.
Till Rhea bore a cunning son,
Zeus, the storm, the fated one.

In secret raised, with thunder’s might,
He claimed his birthright in the night.
With siblings freed, a war began,
Olympians rose to forge their plan.

With lightning, storm, and Titan’s fall,
The heavens shook, the earth’s enthral.
Olympus claimed, a realm divine,
As gods rose up in holy line.

Thus born were they, the Olympian throng,
The gods of myth, in story and song.
From Chaos’ depths to mountain’s throne,
Their might and rule forever known.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Ugly Butterfly

The Royal Octopus

In a garden full of buzzing bees,
Lived a butterfly who felt unease.
Her wings were tattered, brown, and gray,
While others danced in bright array.

She watched them flutter in the air,
With colors bright beyond compare.
“Why am I ugly, small, and plain?
I don’t belong,” she’d often claim.

The roses bloomed in shades so bright,
While she would hide away from sight.
The sun would shine, the birds would sing,
But she was sad about her wings.

One day she asked the ladybug,
“Why can’t I feel a joyful hug?
The others sparkle, bright and free,
But none of that is meant for me.”

The ladybug said with a smile,
“You’ll see your beauty in a while.
For sometimes what you think is small,
Becomes the greatest gift of all.”

The butterfly sighed and flew away,
Still wishing for her brighter day.
She landed near a shady tree,
Where an old wise owl said, “Come, see!”

“Look closely at your wings, dear one,
Your beauty’s hidden from the sun.
You’re not a butterfly, oh no—
But something grander soon will show.”

She wondered what the owl could mean,
Her wings were dull, not red or green.
But as the moon began to rise,
She felt a change before her eyes.

Her wings grew wider, soft as silk,
With patterns lovely, smooth as milk.
She wasn’t plain; she wasn’t small—
She’d become a moth, grandest of all!

With moonlit wings that shone so bright,
She soared into the starry night.
She wasn’t ugly, now she knew—
Her beauty was for nighttime’s view.

The stars all twinkled as she flew,
Her heart now filled with joy and too—
She learned that beauty comes in ways
That shine in night or brightened days.

So if you feel you’re not enough,
Remember that the world is tough.
But just like her, you’ll soon break free,
And find the wings you’re meant to be.

2024 ©️

Poetry

Love Defined

The Royal Octopus

The sun and moon, a timeless pair,
A dance of light beyond compare.
By day, he rises, golden bright,
Casting warmth and chasing night.

She waits in shadows, silver glow,
With secrets only night can know.
In quiet grace, she takes her turn,
While he, in longing, watches, yearns.

They reach, they touch, but never meet,
Bound by fate’s eternal beat.
Across the sky, they chase and play,
In twilight’s blush and dawn’s soft gray.

Yet every dusk and dawn’s embrace
Is where they share a fleeting space,
A moment where their love is shown—
Two halves of light, yet all alone.

Forever bound, apart, entwined,
The sun and moon, are love defined.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Mother’s Mistake

The Royal Octopus

Born from soil, from stars, from sea,
Yet unlike all, they came to be.
With minds that reached beyond the skies,
Had hands that built, and tongues that lied.

They rose from earth with prideful claim,
To bend the world, to carve their name.
But in their rise, they left behind
The gentle pulse of Nature’s mind.

The rivers cried, the forests thinned,
The air grew thick, the seas were pinned.
For what was green, they burned for gain,
And in their grasp, came endless pain.

Machines and cities, steel and fire,
Their endless wants, their deep desire.
They took too much, they gave too little,
Their hearts of stone, their souls so brittle.

The sky now fades, the earth now groans,
And yet they stand upon their thrones.
Blind to the wounds they fail to see,
The greatest flaw in Nature’s tree.

Oh, Mother Nature, did you weep
To see your children fall so deep?
For what you birthed with love and care,
Became a burden hard to bear.

Perhaps in time, they’ll learn to bend,
To heal the world, their ways amend.
But until then, with hearts opaque,
They’ll wear the mark—your grand mistake.

2024 ©️