As his hand held the horn
Advancing in the flow
Guided by the gold glow
The scent of a black thorn
Caught his courageous core.
Bravely, his blade he bore
The callous cave calling
The evil and lurking
Mischievous monster
The mourning, mad mother
Of the deceased Grendel.
The ghost of the rebel
Haunting the silent rocks
Bones, brides, breeches, in blocks.

And his hand held the hilt
For no demon will spilt
His burning and blessed blood.
Blue and bright was the sweep
His body sinking deep
In this felonious flood.
He shuddered as he shone
“ Look, I could light your lone”
What a wielder, my woe !”
“ Show yourself, filthy foe
I thus swear, your demise
Will be swift, I promise…”
“ Sweet sayings, o slayer
Come closer, commander,


Epic epitome
Of grace and of beauty
I reckon you royal
I do know you, kind knight
I have been, from afar
Whilst you were with Hrothgar
Beholding, in the night
Your might and your madness.
I praise  your pure prowess
Until my dreaded den
You have disturbed my dawn
And slaughtered my fine fawn…
You must be Beowulf
Son of the bees and wolves. “

“Silence, seditious sin
You are not from my kin
Let alone from my line
You will never be mine !
March, woman, bow your nape
Under my trusted blade
Let your light crimson cape
Fall to the fallen floor
This shelter you have made
Your marooned murky moor
In this stretch naught was found
Your kingdom and your mound
Shall be your last torrent
The moon will be crescent !“

His eyes devoured her
Dear delicious posture
He pondered, standing there
Over her tempting tone
This soft gift of nature…
He wanted her dead, gone
She cursed him with a kiss
Basking in a pure bliss
His sallied sword collapsed
As the time sighed, elapsed
She skimmed him in the sun
With her dark divine dun
Seducing and soft sight
And he had lost the fight


He left her shining side
When the tedious tide
Swallowed his strong structure
As a King, with no cure !



September, 18, 2013