Poems from Ian Gould
Some situations seem less than ideal.
Some men will meet a stranger braced to fight.
Just brace thyself and talk with sheathed steel.
...
The Norns are fear and ignorance and hate.
We kneel to them and so portend our fate.
Below the world, our refuse feeds the well
Of misery...
Before this pyre we stand my son,
Within this hallowed shrine.
Gods, let the flames be seen throughout
Hispania one last time.
My son, my...
An old Man lies dying
In the cradle of his birth.
Choking, Burning.
His breath grows shallow,
And his eyes fade dim.
In doom, he is
Alone...