"My Muse Has Deserted Me" and "The Last Battle"
My Muse Has Deserted Me
My Muse has deserted me, and never have I felt so cold.
Once words flowed freely and surely, as fluidly as does
A warrior’s sword, and almost as cleanly did they cut.
But strangely, now, in this blessed silence I sit
Wondering what words I might find myself able to speak;
And I find myself thinking back, back so long ago:
I see myself there, sitting in the audience of the greatest
Word-crafters to have ever lived, shaping their art as perfectly
As would an artisan of metal or even of stone, and I hear
Them, too, calling out for their Muse, and receiving those
Blessed words that come to their pen much more readily than I.
So I am here, finding my Muse in the presence of those
Who are long since past, and this silence is deafening.
The Last Battle
Long has this battle been bravely fought
On fields of grey, crimson-drenched with honor
As the warriors stand and face their last,
With their iron-shields and swords so finely wrought.
But what good are those shields and battle-blades
At the end of a warrior’s finest battle?
The warrior stands there, alone and cold
His fellow warriors struck down by the fear-fiend itself.
How the great Valkyrie watches over them
And a voice which would rival that of the finest bard
Will say to them, “Rise, warrior, and feast and dine
Until the day you once more will raise arms and fight.
Song-weavers will ever lift their voice to thy valor.”