Do not raise voice in manner un befit of your standing,
Do not spit fire from forked tongue as if you could fly,
Lest your wings melt in the dying sun of tomorrow
And hurtle back to Earth in your aimless panderings

Left for dead amid the ashes of your own making and the dreams of yesterday,
Crushed by solid forms and rabid tears
Blinded by the toxic venom of years
and self centered sense of being

I see you
For what you truly are now
and bestow a promise of giving
and all that you weep for
Lost now to the muted shafted glow
of your shape shifting pleasures
and nonsensical ramblings

I shall see you in the afterlife
You best be ready
The Viking never forgets