POEM

Author: Salis Fern

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Rumbling over rolling hills,
a crawling mist - an ancestral thrill.
Needled statues of revenge against 
the crags, the creeks, the rivers, the sheep.

Mounds like the graves of giants-
slumbering amidst the dirt. Silent.
Sodden green landscapes, dissected,
by streams carving through;
moss shrouded tombs. 

Set ablaze, an infestation of rage-
decayed, like rust to any kind of blade.
In this ravaged scar of Ragnarök, foliage, 
enacts a molten display of revenge. 

Reverence for those cataclysmic beings - 
lost on the meek minds of men.
Exception, expansive beyond absolution.
Ancient behemoth, forgive humanities,
desecration.

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Posted 13 September 2024

Copyright (c) 2024 by SALIS FERN