Valkyrie
Poetry Sunday
Standing at the edge of the world,
wind whipping my hair,
arms spread wide, my palms unfurled,
who I am laid bare.
Without a hull to hide beneath,
no shelter finds me,
I face the tempest as a beast,
strong as I could be.
“Come at me wind!” I cry aloud,
“Come torrents of rain!
I will not bend, I will stand proud,
tall where those have lain.
Skies, open with your mighty light,
high Hephaestus forged,
I brace myself for fiery bites,
fury, ire engorged.”
Cracking lightning showers arise,
bursting through the clouds,
its fierce, bright wrath accosts my eyes,
gleaming, violent shroud.
Try as they might to make me yield,
booming thunderous booms,
I stand upon the ocean-field,
titan oak in bloom.
Swift currents whirl around my feet,
round and round and round,
like thrumming drums whose hum so sweet,
fill my soul with sound.
At the edge of the world I stand,
here for all to see,
Valkyrie on embattled land,
I stand — triumphantly.
