American Ragnarok

On the hill false Shepherd plays his harp
While the crimson deceiver doth crow
For every strum both flat and sharp
His bleating flock doth file row by row

Heroes awaken from their slumber
Trumped by call of the golden plume
Twelve will they call their sacred number
Spelling out fate for the old gods’ doom

Before the bellows of that old hound
Come the caws of the blood encrusted
Only blood and hate of brothers found
No mercy among them entrusted

The Tree it shudders from root to crown
Decrepit ships sail forth from the east
Maidens tear at Colombia’s gown
On our corpses the Eagle doth feast

Advertisements

About ninefolddragon

I am a self-proclaimed writer, spiritualist, and warrior. My primary writings are poetry and essays that evoke elemental visualization and are written in honor of the sacred feminine.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to American Ragnarok

  1. Faye says:

    Oh! Not sure if I understand the images but impacting expression. Not even sure if my interpretation is correct…. but surely thought-provoking. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s