O

Orc Two
      sits up the leafy Rhûn bamboo
Watching
      apart from the bloody fighting.
But how
      did this happen to be, you ask now.
Born from
      an unimaginative Vat Mom
She was
      lighter skinned because
selfish
      genes had reverted to the elvish.
Two could
      soak up sun like she had heartwood,
a side
      her Vat siblings couldn’t abide.
And it
      didn’t end there, Two just wouldn’t fit.
She bent
      all rules, spurned not by tree or Ent.
Regret,
      did she, her lack of orc duty. Her great, dirty secret.
They beat
      her, they shoved and prodded, rarely gave her to eat
Missioned
      far ahead scouting, her superiors hoped she was attritioned.
That found
      Two away from both armies. She opted to be tree bound
so tall
      so high away in her state of AWOL
but war
      came to her no matter how she wished to close that door.
That night
      through the fight she stayed still and tight
up that
      tree though the shrieks of combat
lessened
      as the sun finally blossomed
and the
      dread orc horde encaving quickly.
Human,
      dwarves and elves rested then.
Hours Two
      waited until all was quiet, her cue.
Stepping
      lightly through forest shady edging
though tough
      threading woods she wasn’t quiet enough
Badin
      the sharp-eyed scout saw her movin’
Puzzled
      he held back on his nocked arrow.
Away
      from sun and open she’d truly stay
yet stuck,
      unOrcish, to the tree trunks and mossy muck.
“Come slow
      from the bush or you’ll have no life to show.”
Two froze.
      She looked and nothing would expose
but leaf
      and tree. Greens. Browns. Shaking in grief.
Halting
      she slipped out, all her senses assaulting
into
      the light, waiting for death so rigor, so blue.
Badin
      stepped out with his bow tightening.
“Who are
      you? Or should I ask what you are?’
“Orc Two”
      she mumbled low. Fearfully too.
“Say it
      again, semi-Orc, I could only hear a bit.”
“Orc Two!”
      “But you touch tree, leaf. Fear not sun nor sky blue.”
Two shrugs,
      “I’m not a good Orc.” On her hair, bitter, she tugs.
“Bad Orc?”
      Badin grins and eases his bow arm’s torque.
“My foe’s
      foe is not my enemy.” And, with a laugh, he goes.
Leaving
      Orc Two, of a sudden, with a life more freeing.

About tgrignon

I came I saw I rented the DVD
This entry was posted in Miscellany and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to O

  1. Pingback: Silly Poems with Terry | Golbing

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