Poetry

Æthelred’s Massacre

Old wound scarred over one-eyed Odin
and Tyr who had lost his hand;
they witnessed the Valkyrie
in her gilded chariot
as she took her
warriors to
Valhalla.

With long swords still sheathed,
the Danes drank mead
as their throats
were silenced
in slaughter;
no longer
able to
sing their Sagas.

Over a thousand years ago –
the field lay of dead warriors
as roots of elm pushed
through ribs
and skulls.
Blossoms thrived above
in spring — while in winter,
snow pressed weathered bones
deeper…
and deeper
into the earth.

They rest in soil diminished and consecrated
from journeys they once undertook –
Now reposed without pain,
all that remains, are
sword-nicked bones
in the field
of their
demise.

© Literary Remains

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