The Last Bard

On the saddest day

of the last winter on Midgard,

the Valkyrie cried.

I saw her tears dance

with the wind and the snow,

perilously lost

in the embrace of a blizzard.

There, in the snow-covered forest

the bard and the dragon

lay in their tombs.

They once flew

under a starlit roof,

their deeds echoing

in the halls of kings.

Mourn, faithful dreamers,

for gone are those days.

No more harp or horn,

no more firebreath or roar

shall sound among the mute crowds.

Who’s left to tell bravery from woe?

Oh gods,

if only I could

turn this mead into blood!

Forgetful is the cruel man,

his memories lost

in the weak whispers of a ghost.

Fare thee well, chooser of the slain:

let me listen to silence,

let me wait in the dark

till the eons have passed

and, far on the horizon,

a new star has sparked.

by J.R. Forbus