Poetry

Lady of Swords

by Rynn Fox

“Why do you cut, oh Lady of Swords?”

“I cut out of nature; I cut out of nurture,

I cut for the Beast and Knight in their chase,

I cut to take pain from the miserable loser,

I cut to give pain to the winner’s bold race.”

“But you cleave Lady, please tell me why?”

“Aye, I split and I sever along a good line,

To clear a right path ‘tween mortal and Divine.

You see most dower fools are obsessed with their pain

Blind to the gnosis, troubled by the profane.”

“But dearest Lady: why a bright sword?”

“I dance in the dark places, where shades are too thick

There the dank snuffs out the heartiest of wicks

So my sword is my torch, my protection, my life

And I’ll warn you sweet chile’: this is no mere knife.

“Tell me please Lady, what is your sword?”

“It is Truth, it is Honor, Humility too.

Yet those who understand sadly they are few

But tis tender mercy’s gift that is awful, rare

With surgeon’s precision I rive the heart fair

“Tis terrible Lady, do say why?

“I must take no prisoners, I broker no lies,

On a heart where there’s shadow, I do despise

So I whittle, I wheedle, I cut and I cleave

Until the heart’s fire, burns bright with good breed

“Pray tell what of the shadow lady?”

“A mark, a momento, from a journey through hell

The shadow is a wounding, this I will tell

And to heal the injury that was made through pain

You must cut both the sacred and the profane

“Damn confounding Lady, please be clear!”

“This sword can slice through muscle, gristle, bone

A torch in the darkness, comfort when all’s gone

This sword makes that which is shattered again renewed

Stands proud against tyranny, there She rings true

“Lastly dear Lady, what is your Sword’s name?”

“Love.”


 

Shieldmaiden’s Song

by Morpheus Ravenna, 2012

Storm front walks the landscape,

Hooded dark in thunderhead, towering,

Massed weight of storm cascading from shoulders,

Sweeping down to cloak the shadowed land in sheets of rain,

Whispering mist trails behind.

In your wake the dead rise

In the mist the dead rise

Tree tips bare rake the sky

Sharp spear-points glinting wet in the dawn,

A forest of spears, shuddering in the spirit wind,

Ravening for battle,

Massing before you.

Over the spear-points the black wings thunder

Over the spear-points you are winging

Reveling in storm and terror,

Raven-folk gathering,

Tribes of your nation,

We come to you

We rise to you

Phantom Queen, your hollow eyes pour nightmare

And the deep and endless hunger of the grave.

Kind folk turn from you in awe,

Good folk, hoping never to hear you speak their names.

But I have heard you.

I have heard the haunting cry of your voice

And I cannot unhear it.

I have heard the cry of destiny,

I have heard the war drum thundering.

In the night beating

In my chest beating

And I will open for you

I will open for you the Gate

I will give you this life.

No other dawn is coming but this one that has come,

The day of calling,

The day in which we live.

And I in my small frame, breathing courage,

No great chieftain I, but all I am is given.

I will heed the war drum

I will heed your calling

O Queen of mine, terrible in your beauty,

Make of me an ardent spear

Lifted by the strong heart of a hero.

I am yours utterly

I am your weapon,

I am yours utterly

I am your shieldmaiden

In the blood light of dawn

Sky wet with cast droplets, singing blood,

Silence before thunder, harrowing,

Comes the storm Queen,

Comes the great Queen,

Morrígan cloaked in the red dawn

Destiny cloaked in the red dawn.


 

Ode to the Morrigan

by Rynn Fox

Nine tresses hang from your holy head

A mantle of feathers round your brow

Bold as the sun at its bright zenith

You speak with a prophetesses’ tongue

“Rise you people who love freedom’s gifts,

Harken to the sword, shield, & spear

Fill your hearts with valor, courage, love.”

From sacred stone to sovereign hands

Her cry rides the winds entreating, “Now.”

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