War Poet

by Tirost Armagna

Each has a path to follow,
While wand’ring through this life –
Some will take to instruments,
And some will choose the knife.

As for me, a wanderer,
Haunted by my muse,
I will sing of everything
From olden time till new.

And every sentient passion
That flows within our veins
Will be the stuff of my song –
Our highest joy and sharpest pain!

And while the world must tremble,
And feel Elpalzi dread,
And rise up with most dire arms
To face demons from the depths,

I will walk through hills and dales,
‘Long rivers and through streets
Singing with my starlit muse,
Of the thrill of battle meet –

For though I am a poet,
Wreathed with laurel crown,
The graceful dance of battle
Enthralls me without bound!

For to move with grace and strength
This body from Meraud
Or push the very limits
Of all of magic’s laws,

Nothing is so thrilling
Than to play the game
That then requires all my skill –
Life and death in balance hang!

But in truth such martial bliss
With love must tempered be,
And even my dread haralun sword
Must rest here in its sheath,

For my muse loves the simple times
As much as any great,
The smiles passed between good friends
Or a new one’s hand to shake.