As I travelled I passed the Field of Cairns,
Where I knew the Restless Dead lay,
Waiting , waiting, to rise up,
Clawing their way out from under the earth,
Enchanted stones no longer keeping them buried.
I knew this would happen, sooner, not later,
For the Black Butterflies, sacred to the Goddess
Who watches the Gates of Hell and the Dead,
Have been flying in swarms each day,
Signifying the unleashing of the Dead.
I am ready, however, for the day they rise,
For the songs of the Tusked Prophet echo
Like thunder in my head, making me strong,
And I have seen the signs, and know the mystic runes,
And my sword is keen, and my axe is sharp.
So let the Restless Dead rise, let them bring their hunger,
Let them bring their anger, let them bring with them
Demons and Spirits that follow them screaming through
The wide open Gates of Hell, let them all come,
For I am ready, and Glory or Valhalla await me.
Poetry from Yours Truly
1 day ago