Post by foxglove on May 14, 2010 13:28:30 GMT -1
I haven't shared much of my poetry previously, but I had a request for this one after reciting it at the recent gathering.
Warrior
I was but a child when the elders came
to choose from those amongst us the healers of the lame.
They chose those who knew the magic of the fire to come along
and those whose words were silken in oath or in song.
While my mother stitched a cloak for me, she never spoke a word.
My father came to tell me the news that he had heard.
He fell to his knees in front of me proud tears of joy outpoured
“ To think a son of mine should take the honour of the sword!”
And they gave gifts to the gods to see us on our way
and bowed their heads in prayer.
They told us to take care.
They gave honour and thanks to the men we would become.
They drank to us and sealed the tie of blood and bone.
And said the tribe would hold in valour their brave and bold offspring.
And on my departing I swore an oath to fight for kith and kin.
Inherently my hand and eye far surpassed the grade.
My tutor gave me discipline in mastering the blade.
The boy inside was left behind when the Romans came.
They came to take my liberty, my bloodline and my name.
They came to change my mother tongue, enslave my kith and kin.
They came to instil order and conquer from within.
Eponas finest guides me, on wheels that ride the wind.
My entrance to the stage is set, let battle now begin.
I exorcise my challenge to their spurious best,
“No human form shall conquer me and my body have no rest,
till I have recompense for plunder and torment of my land.
Your mortal flesh shall feel the wrath of combat hand to hand!”
The game has just begun.
I turn my face towards the sun.
I pray the gods to do their bidding.
My life to end in manner fitting
that of man of good intension
“My body be the revenue of my lineage
My blood the willing sacrifice consecrate this land!”
As I bend to touch the ground
I lay the cloak my mother made me down.
Before I spill my blood upon this land,
my time is borrowed by sleight of hand
Deft in stroke, swift on heel,
I strike with iron of furious zeal.
One by one the challengers fall.
The gods in answer to my call.
The heart of true and honourers deed,
pumps pain relieving cortisol on need.
My eyes grow tired but still I see,
they send more men to challenge me.
As I wipe the bloodied sweat from my brow,
I know the gods are smiling at me now.
I can hear a sweet primordial call,
And as my broken body starts to fall.
I remember when
They gave gifts to the gods to see us on our way,
and bowed their heads in prayer.
They told us to take care
They gave honour and thanks to the men we would become.
They drank to us and sealed the tie of blood and bone.
And said the tribe would hold in valour their brave and bold offspring.
And on my departing I swore an oath to fight for kith and kin.
Now some may say the warriors gone,
but in my gift of death you shall live on.
My blood be spilt into the earth,
as sacrifice for your rebirth.
These bones that lie beneath your skin,
are fashioned by my ancient kin.
The earth you tread beneath your feet,
the water drank, the food you eat,
All retain a history,
of life before you came to be.
I say to those who undermine my worth,
or my place upon a modern earth.
“Which of you who have a child when sleeping,
prays for the right to their safe keeping?
If harm should threaten kith and kin.
Don’t you feel my blood beneath your skin?”
And I remember when
You gave gifts to the gods to see us on our way.
And bowed your heads in prayer.
You told us to take care.
You gave honour and thanks to the men we would become.
You drank to us and sealed the tie of blood and bone.
And said the tribe would hold in valour our brave and bold offspring.
And on my departing I swore an oath to fight for kith and kin.
Warrior
I was but a child when the elders came
to choose from those amongst us the healers of the lame.
They chose those who knew the magic of the fire to come along
and those whose words were silken in oath or in song.
While my mother stitched a cloak for me, she never spoke a word.
My father came to tell me the news that he had heard.
He fell to his knees in front of me proud tears of joy outpoured
“ To think a son of mine should take the honour of the sword!”
And they gave gifts to the gods to see us on our way
and bowed their heads in prayer.
They told us to take care.
They gave honour and thanks to the men we would become.
They drank to us and sealed the tie of blood and bone.
And said the tribe would hold in valour their brave and bold offspring.
And on my departing I swore an oath to fight for kith and kin.
Inherently my hand and eye far surpassed the grade.
My tutor gave me discipline in mastering the blade.
The boy inside was left behind when the Romans came.
They came to take my liberty, my bloodline and my name.
They came to change my mother tongue, enslave my kith and kin.
They came to instil order and conquer from within.
Eponas finest guides me, on wheels that ride the wind.
My entrance to the stage is set, let battle now begin.
I exorcise my challenge to their spurious best,
“No human form shall conquer me and my body have no rest,
till I have recompense for plunder and torment of my land.
Your mortal flesh shall feel the wrath of combat hand to hand!”
The game has just begun.
I turn my face towards the sun.
I pray the gods to do their bidding.
My life to end in manner fitting
that of man of good intension
“My body be the revenue of my lineage
My blood the willing sacrifice consecrate this land!”
As I bend to touch the ground
I lay the cloak my mother made me down.
Before I spill my blood upon this land,
my time is borrowed by sleight of hand
Deft in stroke, swift on heel,
I strike with iron of furious zeal.
One by one the challengers fall.
The gods in answer to my call.
The heart of true and honourers deed,
pumps pain relieving cortisol on need.
My eyes grow tired but still I see,
they send more men to challenge me.
As I wipe the bloodied sweat from my brow,
I know the gods are smiling at me now.
I can hear a sweet primordial call,
And as my broken body starts to fall.
I remember when
They gave gifts to the gods to see us on our way,
and bowed their heads in prayer.
They told us to take care
They gave honour and thanks to the men we would become.
They drank to us and sealed the tie of blood and bone.
And said the tribe would hold in valour their brave and bold offspring.
And on my departing I swore an oath to fight for kith and kin.
Now some may say the warriors gone,
but in my gift of death you shall live on.
My blood be spilt into the earth,
as sacrifice for your rebirth.
These bones that lie beneath your skin,
are fashioned by my ancient kin.
The earth you tread beneath your feet,
the water drank, the food you eat,
All retain a history,
of life before you came to be.
I say to those who undermine my worth,
or my place upon a modern earth.
“Which of you who have a child when sleeping,
prays for the right to their safe keeping?
If harm should threaten kith and kin.
Don’t you feel my blood beneath your skin?”
And I remember when
You gave gifts to the gods to see us on our way.
And bowed your heads in prayer.
You told us to take care.
You gave honour and thanks to the men we would become.
You drank to us and sealed the tie of blood and bone.
And said the tribe would hold in valour our brave and bold offspring.
And on my departing I swore an oath to fight for kith and kin.