The rumble from that distant cavern,

Black eyes, and streaking night

I fell upon the wolfen sword

Sharp and gleaming bright.


Hear the drumbeats calling war

Hear the harken shield

The clash and growl of steely tools

And the ravens on the field.


The sky run dark and streaked with blood

Of fallen men at arms

The fire blazing high with smoke

A call of macabre alarm


I watch it pass in bleak surrender,

A witness to my fate

To watch as they fall down in blood

And Valkyries elate.


The pound of feet breaking down the beach

Swallowed by the tide

The crumbling walls of pride and valor

Falling before my eyes.


The passion within the eyes of those

That make the gleaming cut

Upon the heads of other men,

Like animals in rut.


They thrash within their armor

They howl within their skin

They rush with muscles taut and learned

They beat you from within.


All along these weathered soldiers

Seek to strike fear in our hearts

They are the symbols of our struggles

When love does pass or start.


Love may be a battlefield,

But upon it we must rattle

With shields and fates and broken swords

That ring out like a gavel.


Perhaps love is a baying hound,

A searcher at the call

But instead of bloody fields,

With grace it traps us all.


So rush out to the battle grounds

And try to hold no fear

There is no triumph in ancient wars

But your glory could be near.


And if you perish upon its fields

Fear not the mourning dawn

You’ll be taken up to higher places

Until the pain is gone.


Pain replaced by intoxication.

Distrust for divine.

Anger for celebration.

Part of the grand design.


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