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[TD1]

A son may love his mother,
Mother love a son,
But when the knives are out
How fare they, when one
Is gone?

For it is dark, and long
Since I heard tell
Of how my son was living
On his distant fell.

Wed he a stranger, beauty, true
And took his house to her
Leaving me cold, alone
With none of bright nor fair
To brighten home.

Ah! If he'd but return
I'd give a feast of joy
And on his head a wreath bestow
Illuminating on his brow.

But I know not if death
Has walked its careful tread
About that world-endearing boy,
Upon that noble head.

A son may love his mother,
Mother love a son,
But when the knives are out
How fare they, when one
Is gone?

For tomorrow: SPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKY

[TD1]

Hey, I'm pregnant now
And want to call our child Fern.
I'm just kidding. Boo.

For tomorrow: Apocalypse. Ragnarok. Tarmon Gai'don. Whatever results in mass destruction, really.

[TD1]

Oh tell me he is here
Who came to me
When I was lost
And gave to me
Purpose.

Tell me that now his hand
Is still at work,
That laughter rings
And naught is dark
With him.

The gates are high above
And white the floor
But is he here
Whom I adore,
My love?

For there was fire on earth
And man 'gainst man,
I lost his hand
In death, and ran
To here

Where angels sing a praise.
I see him not.
Where has he gone?
What is his lot,
My Lord?

For tomorrow: Elven

[TD1]

They say ten thousand years ago
The rivers weeped with blood
And all that walked the world of men
Despised, was, and not good.

Then came a light from over hill
And darkness fled the scene.
A host, remarkable and pure;
What could have been.

And all that haunted empty earth
Looked on with fear and awe
To see the hope they'd killed
Alive. And well. And fair.

For tomorrow: a broken window.

[TD1]

Cricket is not for the weak of heart
Nor, really, for the weak of arm.
Or so I found, at least, when bowling
On the first - and probably last - occasion.
There was a crash, and
The feel of parents' ire.

For tomorrow: Despair.

[TD1]

What does the child think
Stranded in the snow,
Her arms before her bare
No family as her own?

What does she say, when in her heart
There's nothing but her fear,
Or when her insides cry for food,
Or eye sheds fruitless tear?

What does she say to we who pass
In coats we deigned to buy
For fashion or frivolity,
No other reason why?

Nothing. She says nothing, but looks
Towards the churned-up ground.
This is despair. This is the greatest grief.
And yet it doesn't make a sound.

For tomorrow: Ancient

[birdy51]

An Endless, Boundless,
Wasteland, Choked of Life and light,
Where Tears Fall No More.

Despair

[TD1]

Time passes.
The floor is strewn
With many falls of leaves.

The shattered memories
Of past growths and new starts
Left on the ground.

A high wall, ancient mortar
Guarding inner sanctum.
Green tendrils, yellow flowers.

A place where man once lived
But now is made unwelcome.
Hard ground, harsh sun, tall wall.

For tomorrow: Repentance.

[TD1]

I beg of you forgiveness
Who I once had wronged
I beg a truce of souls be forged
Between our wayward songs.
I wish that we could walk the path
Of moonlight and of sun
And never worry of the sundering
Which pares us down to one.

When I left you, I left a hole
In size and shape a heart.
I'm sorry, and I hope I'm not too late
To forge forgiveness' dart
Out of your broken flesh, and mine.
Let us be one, once more entwine.

For tomorrow: anxiety and stress

[TD1]

A song is singing in the background,
Muffled music of the ether
And one on top of one on top of one
The troubles gather, gather, gather.

Beyond, there is a beauty, true.
Words speak of light. Grand sight. Great view.
Before me is a deadline.
Do this. Do that. Then die.

And with your muffled words,
Feed an uninformed new generation,
The children of your detractors
Growing fat on misgrown knowledge.

Close all doors, then, and let none in.
Leave all alone to their own thought
Forgetful of their evils, of their sin.
Forgive me all that I have wrought.

The song is distant in its beauty.
Before, the ground is bare.
All good is gone
And naught is fair.

For tomorrow: That which was lost is found.

[Tomasque]

But now, I've found what I have sought, at last;
The lost, elusive City of my past.
It walks the earth around in mortal guise.
I look around myself with tearful eyes,
And know in where it hides, to where it's gone:
The stolen glances of the passerbys,
And in the their whispers of the lonely man
The one in whom forever shall live on
The unforgotten city, Alzebaan.

[dustywayfarer]

But now, I've found what I have sought, at last;
The lost, elusive City of my past.
It walks the earth around in mortal guise.
I look around myself with tearful eyes,
And know in where it hides, to where it's gone:
The stolen glances of the passerbys,
And in the their whispers of the lonely man
The one in whom forever shall live on
The unforgotten city, Alzebaan.

Sounds like a mental plane from a recent FoTF reply.

[Tomasque]

Sounds like a mental plane from a recent FoTF reply.

What's that?

[TD1]

One of my favourite by you, Tomasque.

My gem is lost. Ten men
Came and took it from me.
The light it granted for me gone
I sank to misery.
It was a fair gem, fairest I have seen
And brighter than the common fair.
So lovely lords went envious
On seeing it with paupery.

Ten men 'gainst one.
It ended as you'd think.
My gem. My daughter.
Gone.

Okay, so I forgot the found bit

For tomorrow: a loyal retainer.

[dustywayfarer]

Sounds like a mental plane from a recent FoTF reply.

What's that?

The Future of the Fortress is a thread where Toady answers questions about the future of Dwarf Fortress. The latest (lengthy) reply has a tidbit about the possibility of having

your squad of dwarves [mine] a demon's interior soul plane.