The branches of the trees close in
I cannot see the sun
The moss too thick covers my feet
The decay has begun

I wish to my Gods for a sign
A way to cut the ropes
A path to run down, sharpened sword
A fire, to give me hope

But none is given, and I see
That I must find a way
To right the forest falling down
If I wish to see the day

Yet here I stand, still trapped inside
This cursรจd, dying land
The future’s where my answer lies
A diamond in the sands


The Warrior

The golden locks of fairest warr’or hair
That stream across a bravely hard-sat face
And hide from sight the cold, blue piercing eyes
That stare forward at battles to take place

This man ready to die for what he knows
Without a thought shed for his mortal life
Prepares himself to face a wicked foe
That seeks only to bring forth death and strife

But fears he not the prospect of defeat
Though face he tricks of his beguiling foe
Who seeks to turn brave men against themselves,
For this his honest heart and mind do know:

Despite the trials that he soon must face
Despite all those who seek his slow demise
Despite the lies that ’bout him have been said
He knows that above them his soul shall rise

O! Vict’ry for this bravest of all men
Who for his race and nation goes to fight
Nothing can stem the tide of his pure will
He triumphs now with strength, glory, and might!

The Light shall shine on

I mourn for the loss of the land of my fathers

Sad, sad it is the day when we look
upon our native land which we held in so high regard

O, the sweet continent,
where like a nursurey we were raised up to the skies

The sun he is crying
The moon she is crying

O, now we look and see pestilence where once grew light
The shadow so evil knows no limit to its hunger

Will it ever recede?
Will we ever win back?

I look at history and see a slow decine
Yes, peaks there were, and still are, but the ground below fell apart

But as this I lamented, throwing my tears to the wind

Could it be?
Could I be so blessed?

The voice of Wotan, he spoke from on high
From Asgard, Elysium, the top of The Tree

“O son of my race, do be not afraid
For Now I shall tell you of glorious ways
The soldier so righteous shall stand up and fight
And destroy the vermin with glory and might”

The clouds closed, I looked around and saw decay
But I was not sad, I was no longer mournful

Indeed the day will come,
as sure as the sun will rise

When we will all stand up
and gain back our birthright

Hail Europa!
Hail Wotan!

Hail and Victory!
The Light shall shine on!

Note: I edited the poem slightly to clean up the punctuation and remove the word “Father,” which I was afraid could have been misinterpreted for the Christian God, when in fact it was a reference to Wotan/Odinn/the supreme Pagan God