Dark Sentiments Season 8 — Day 20: Sebastian’s Voodoo

Posted By on October 20, 2017


3 Responses to “Dark Sentiments Season 8 — Day 20: Sebastian’s Voodoo”

  1. julian says:

    To say that I am honored to be held in esteem by a warrior whom I so respect, is an understatement. Though I have been in less than the best of health for a couple of weeks, I am so touched by this remembrance and moved by this heart rending video that I wish to offer a poor effort that I wrote some years ago after a soul shaking event which best remains undisclosed. But it is offered with a full heart, to a true friend.

    Old warrior’s lament

    Exercise in haiku. Non-autobiographical.

    My broken swords rust,

    Banners lay sodden on earth

    All is left behind.

    Tall pines kissed by breeze

    Purge from my mind and spirit

    the scent of old blood

    I kneel in cold streams

    But only the tears of God

    may wash my hands clean.

  2. julian says:

    Because I wantonly flubbed the spacing in the above, when I should have placed spacing lines betwixt the stanzas, allow me to try to at least make amends with this, dedicated to all who have fought the good fight, yet wondered as the darkness fell,if the prize gained was worth the price paid.
    Ragnarok c. 2011 julian

    Dreams of Valhalla and
    Nightmares of Ragnarök ~
    Screams of “Odin” and a hundred names
    of other pagan gods rise in the
    carrion air;
    red mists and purple haze and yellow fog of death
    crush Hope from your soul and leech
    Courage from your heart
    Replace all light with black despair…
    false comrades fleeing madly past
    leave you drowning in the trench
    of death.

    Horror haunts your mind and
    weariness your limbs
    no answering god, no wind of fortune, turns now to your aid.
    Sodden earth anchors your feet, clay made
    sacred and profane by
    brains and blood and entrails spilt
    like the spittle of Judas
    on his hanging rope.

    So now, alone, as death draws near,
    there’s not one soul who vowed his sword
    not one true voice of all you’d called
    to stand on your St. Crispin’s Day –
    The crimson skies are fading fast and only foes remain
    close by.

    As sight grows dark and strength bleeds out –
    you laugh and lift once more your blade,
    shed one last drop of foe’s red spray
    Embrace cold death and the end of all
    And know that for this you were born –
    For black betrayal, death and Hell
    your soul was cast into this world
    a grim clay joke for the cold abyss
    a nameless corpse beneath the feet
    of those who mocked all holiness
    who fought to honor their Moon God;
    and those who soon will drink their mead
    and laugh and love in their own Halls.

    While you lie still at Ragnarök,
    ravens sing thanks for your meat.

  3. El Hansh says:

    Huzzah, huzzah

Leave a Reply