As a falcon in the clouds,
Soaring wrathfully;
Rising, and searching,
In the thermals of chaos;
Seeking prey below.
Eyes of malison,
Wary, careful, cold as steel,
Grim, as the grey wolf:
Scan the horizon,
Through the mists of flaming breath,
Fixed, forward flaring.
His bosom is firm,
As porphyry and war-wood;
Hard, like the anvil.
Hatred, sharp, He bares;
With cold heart, and bloody hand,
Shield answers to shaft.
"The horns a' burning,
This is no eastward dawning,"
Screamed the fowls of war:
Now the ravens sing;
On the eve of carrion,
And heavy hand play.
From the north they come,
Gliding on a grove of spears;
Glittering, the hosts;
Mounted warriors,
Mighty men, dressed in sable;
Banners fluttering.
The voice of thunder,
Arrousing fury; bloodlust;
A blast of trumpets!
Onwards surged the war;
Like a cloud upon the land,
To take spoil, and prey.
To drive from the land,
The people of the promise;
And His holy One.
Now, will His fury
Well up the fires of His wrath,
To make His name known.
On the barren slopes,
Will He smite thy lance and bow;
Thou, and all thy bands:
He has called the beasts,
And the birds of prey, to feast
On His sacrifice.
Hoarsely barks the crow;
Wet blood upon his feathers,
o'er the fallen prince.
Here he lies, alone;
For stone dead has no fellow:
Dry bones waste away.
No comments:
Post a Comment