Game of Thrones poems Mya Maola
Deep in the west
Who is the man and who is the beast?
Do the vines tangled ever to and fro.
Far in the east
Stark are the days of long summers past.
Now the frigid icy winds, blizzards and snow will last.
Upon the frost do numerous armies march,
Towards the heavens do their bloody arrows arch, as
The North remembers all the young who have fallen,
As the Great War rises upon sworn bannermen. Brothers of honor, born low or born high,
All must stand proud against The Long dark Night.
The Old Gods watch, always silent and sure. Winter Is Coming.
They’ve all said it would.
And until the glorious day when we all die
Upon the glorious garden high,
The war is done, victory is nigh. Let the prettiest flowers grow. Such beauteous queens
Of thorns and roses do they speak. Shall lions purge, attack their prey
High in the womb of the Red Keep.
Sisters, brothers, From Seven to Three
Among the roots do ensnare many weeds.
Growing Strong, they strangle you in your sleep. Mother of mercy divine,
Let the cunning seeds arise.
By fire they die, snuffed out by ambition.
Only from you will they recieve contrition. Tend the garden well. Endure.
Lest how quickly the tide will turn. Lest it do what dragons do, For you they will burn.
Shall the whispering weirwoods stand high.
a dynasty rises from the ashes.
The dynasty fated by prophecy
From ancient lands far and wide, Brought across the Narrow tide,
The pride of a thousand hearts.
Is such fiery power to enthrall the masses.
Golden coin deafens golden pleas
Thrice does the wild enchantment flare
Driven ten thousand miles apart.
Murderous testimony slices golden knights in white cloaks.
And now The Rain of Castamere croaks.
The Hand of the King, in pockets does it swell. The Vipers bite and the Lions pounce. Oh, the tales they tell.
As the lion’s roar echoes sevenfold,
And “Dracarys!” is heard loud and clear. Fly, oh children of dusty scrolls
Your fire enlightens the tales of old.
Viseryion, golden as the dead lion’s mane, his claws that catch and jaws that bite.
His brother Rhaegal, green as the fields on a midsummer’s night.
Finally Drogon, black as fright
“A Lannister Always Pays in Gold”.
The Queen whose fire brings suffering tears Now all high or below does Westeros fear. The debt is paid and the time draws near. ‘Tis that bloody roar you will hear.
Your fire glows with bloody light.
Across the Narrow Sea the scaled beasts fly. Hark, the Mother of Dragons is nigh! Valyrian roots and Andal mud. Westeros united under Fire and Blood
The Macomb Community College journal of student words and images.