STORM OF DEATH

STORM OF DEATH

A wanderer coming from a land unknown
Carried with him a mysterious golden sword
Made the land of fire and ice his home
And swore an Heathen oath with ancient words
Still considered an outsider, he lived among them
Their Gods became his own as he learned their ways
Soon they started to look at him as a friend
The become his brothers, but not by blood
He bonded to them by the way of steel
They told him stories of what once was
A bond to their past is what he could feel
He fought alongside them when their lands were invaded
He cried to the All Father for strength and bravery
He cut down the ones who were despised and hated
For trying to teach their self righteous slavery
He swore he would fight until his last breath
His golden sword became a whirlwind of vengeance
Valhalla awaited him if he ended up in death
He refused to accept their cries to be repentant
Their God was a coward, and he refused to be weak
Where was he as they cried to him for help?
But weren't they supposed to turn the other cheek
Instead of fighting to change the faith of a land for themselves?
The battle went on until the darkest of night
Sparks of clashing swords filled the midnight sky
The air was frigid and the wind as cold as ice
The strength of the Heathens refused to die
The dawn came and one side remained
As the other rode off, screaming in fear
He and his brothers stood victorious in the morning rain
Grateful they survived the fight and were still here
On that morning a new person was born
As they rode back home with all that was left
They ones raised by steel started calling him storm
Because during the battle he became the storm of death.
© 2012 Darryl Mouzone