Standing behind this shield wall,
On the battle ground.
Dusty and worn, wounded,
I wonder as I hold strong,
Next to my kinsman,
Will we win this battle?
Will I survive, using axe and muscle?
Slaughtering, killing, slowly advancing,
Taking my enemies' lives,
Is this worth the price of so many?
Is this honoring Odin?
One battleworn man, amongst many,
In this shieldwall, feeling
Time, heavy in the air, and mind wandering,
He considers the battles fought,
The rewards gained,
The kinsmen lost.................

Setting sail across the windswept plains,
Air rushing by, as does the land below,
Wings arching, Slicing through the thin air,
Covering distances unknown.

Searching always for that magnetic compass,
Guiding lines of power encompassing this world.
Soaring over lakes, seas, oceans.
Driven by instinct every spring and fall.

Escaping the winter winds rushing down from the north,
to warmer climes, less frigid temperatures.
Returning yearly to mate, and raise their young,
to continue the cycle, ever moving, ever changing and unchanging.

Did you see the paper?
There was another incorrigible kid,
wandering the streets, looking for adventure.

He was just out seeking his fortunes,
maybe a baseball, a nickel found, a lost pup,
when he was converged upon by the local press.

They were looking for a street smart kid,
able to tell them the realities of living on the street,
show them the lay of the land so to speak.

Now, this kid, bright fella, figured he had something here,
Thought, all these folks really liked him.
Were interested in him, actually thought they may have cared.

He showed them the back streets,
the corners where the hookers hung out.
Introduced them to the local dealer, and
made short work of the secrets of a local chopshop.

He really thought they cared,
they gave him a fiver, a bag of candy, a grin,
They talked to him like he was the Man,
he wanted to be, amazed and excited by what he told.

Then they disappeared one day, their story written,
published for the newspaper and the kid was all alone.
All alone.

He was all alone when the chopshop boys and the local **** found him.  
Made an example of him for any other fools who thought they knew so much.  
Now you can see him, head down, limping, crippled and blind.  

I wonder where those people are now, needing a story,
filling their space with black and white lines.
Missing the black and blue bruises they left behind.