Every word like a dagger, every verse like an arrow, every stave like a sword and the rune, itself, a warrior. Fought with words, the battle of steel and came victorious, the hero of scheme, awakening a warrior…
A warrior’s soul on a path so lone,
Is like a star whose light alone,
Can douse the flame of woe and foe,
and ignite the doused flame of hope.
A sharpened sword, a stronger soul,
A rising sun not a rising moon;
For golden hearths are golden flames,
And golden flames never die so soon.
And empty thrones with none to claim
Are like those hearths without a flame.
His name unknown, his blade erect,
A soul, a rune from heavens deep,
Where angels wake, but not from sleep,
and eyes do blink the purest dreams;
Where rocks and stones are gems, indeed,
and the beast of hunger is not found;
Where every heart is made of stone,
and the grace of mercy is renowned;
Where tears are gems, not to be shed,
and laughing bliss is a gift, indeed;
Where a soul is not some firewood,
Ever to be burnt when there is need.
And with his advent, blood shall flow,
In streams, in vales, in rivers, below,
Where in winter, the waters do pass,
and in summer, the gleaners do bath;
Where in spring the sparrow sings,
while the butterflies dance below;
Where in autumn the leaves do fall,
making every garden and field a flower.
But death shall reign upon that earth,
Like a morn that gives no mirth.
But still his blade will rise and fall,
Till every star in the sky shall fall
And when the warrior’s soul shall part,
From the soul of the beating heart;
Leaving behind a flame of hope,
That shall burn in thousand glows,
Like the blue sky full of rainbows.
And tonight the stars are burning low,
As if their eyes have foreseen a glow;
And in its fear their lights do flicker,
Like that of a flare about to whither.
The Poet: Arkane
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.