Poems

Poems

The Hunters of the Night, by Lorrin Elofsson

Cold. Cold. Cold.

Winds which wake the sleeping Wolf

Yet steel colder still

Was all one heard

Clanging, in the frigid night.

And the souls of men

On ash trees, hanging!

And the hunters gaze

On his prey was right

A man will fight

A man will bleed

A man will die, as all men do.

But the wolf

Oh the patient wolf

The wolf, he can hunt too

The silent steps which summon dread,

Heard only by the watching crow.

With one eye shut It gazed and gazed

On what and why no man shall know.

Yet next the Hunter drew his bow

With steady aim His breath was held.

And with courage did he try to show

That his arrow dealt

The blow of death

A man will speak

A man will know

A man with words, will try to grow

But the wolf

Oh the grey old wolf

His icy eyes do wisdom show.

Ribcage riped and lungs ruptured.

Lies the words which speak of death,

With glory more and gore of less,

Yet blood was all the hunter captured.

A bear now, a troll back then

The Watcher hunts

What threatens most,

Yet all shall fall when the wolf commands

And to courage

A drink of mead as toast.

A man will rise

A man will soar

A man will always dream I'm sure,

But the wolf

Oh the mighty wolf

His eternal howl inspires more.

The hunt is done and the forest floor

With red is soaked forever more

The hunt is done and the futures come

When prey must fall

Again some more

Yet heed my word this hunt shall be

Like naught that man will ever see

The hunt of hunts

The final fight

The fall of the eternal enemy

In the end the will

Of men shall crack

When the sun is blocked

By wings so black

When the sheep no longer

Walk their track

And brothers choose

To turn their back

Nearly all shall fall

When the Wyverns attack.

All.

But the wolf.

And his pack.

"