Forgotten Kingdoms Forums

Greetings to all reading this,

The faith of Kelemvor would like to hold an event for a lengthy duration. We wish this time to be one of remembrance, but also that of creativity -- creation. For just as there is to life, there is for death. Let us remember the fallen with songs, poems, or other novelties of literature that can be sang or recited to give credence to those whom have fallen.

The rules for this are simple for those that wish to participate:
- Write a song, poem, or similar piece.
- This piece can be about anyone you remember who might've fallen.
- This piece need not be about a friend or loved one, but can be. (Take time to remember your enemies, for they are the reason you are where you are for better or worse.)
- Multiple pieces can be submitted.

The best written, thought out, creative, and heartfelt work will be selected to win a prize; but in the end, everyone wins.

Please send all works to be considered to Valnaru Daelshan via mail or directly.

The piece will be judged by the faith of Kelemvor.

Memories Line the Streets

Outside the city wall, the sounds of war rage on.
The soldiers fight to protect our way of life, and
the rest of us must carry on.

And back inside the walls, the streets are lined
with boxes. Boxes filled with memories of the ones
who made the ultimate sacrifice.

I walk along the street, and stop at the first box
I see. In front of the box is a portrait of a boy
younger than me. A small wooden shield, a soldier,
two balls and some string. A pair of boots and
threadbare pants. For one gold you can have it all.

And the streets are lined with boxes, boxes filled
with memories of boys who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Down the street a woman marked by grief, sets
out yet another box along the side of the street.
A neatly folded stack of shirts, a pocket watch,
a bowl, a whisk, and a set of knives. The sign
reads "Take what you can use."

And the streets are lined with boxes, boxes filled
with memories of bakers who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Down the street a tiny girl sits beside a box, for
every item you touch, you get a story about her hero.
A journal, a portrait in a pretty frame, a box of
cigars, a comb and a long silver chain. One platinum
for the lot and you can have it all.

And the streets are lined with boxes, boxes filled
with memories of big brothers who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Outside the walls, the noises are growing softer, yet
as I walk along the street another box appears.
A fancy hat, a tie, a book of hymns, a pair of glasses,
several pairs of shoes and some leather. The sign
just reads "Take it all."

And the streets are lined with boxes, boxes filled
with memories of cobblers who made the ultimate sacrifice.

With memories of boys, bakers, big brothers, cobblers
bankers, thieves, husbands, fathers, guards, priests,
and all of our heroes that made the ultimate sacrifice.