A Feild After Battle

A Field After Battle



Smoke and Ash are in the air,
The ground is wet with Blood-
Countless hundred's dead despair-
And soil turned to mud.

Among the living, I remain-
And for the dead, a pyre-
Shall burn so brightly in the rain-
The bodies go to fire.

The Shield Wall was sixty feet-
Wide and ten rows thick-
The smell of flesh and burning meet-
And Death himself was sick.

I entered with a hundred men-
I left with only twenty-
As Suture's Fire burned again-
And Slaughter came in plenty.

Now, I walk the empty field-
And kill those who who were taken-
My steel Sword, and copper Shield-
A spirit, Godforsaken.

A Storm draws near; I hear the Thunder:
And Thor's great Hammer striking-
The Gods all gaze at us in wonder-
The Blood-sport called the Viking.