Hyrrljós

                    Ere the silent shadows mourn and daylight fades to night
                         Beneath the watching eyes of heaven long hours turn to light.
                         A shapeless form, a heedless stare, a body birthed by moon,
                         Living, breathing, gone to all but memory he rises by ancient rite.

Call of sparks, fanning flame,
          far and near together come
     brotherhood to brothers and brothers found.
     Aflight a fleet of ship and horse,
          they round the shadows home
     and in the coming passes Eldgrímr upon the starlight ground.

Returned to the halls of the Golden land
          where in the twilight finds
     three suns, four moons, and the hymns of the
          midnight gone.
     Into the wood of an ancient mire did Eldgrímr
          journey forth
     for the triumph of the hunt.




                    Bow ahand, firetongue o're back, sword for the belt to hold,
                         into the undergrowth venture forth towards a host unknown
                         in company and kinship for feast midday to bear.
                         Beneath the summer-green canopy towards the winding depths
                         of rivers run and bends of brink
                              towards a silent throne.

Atop the flames in triumph rest the spoils of Eldgrímr come
     to feast and forge a rightful cornerstone.
Seated beneath the billowing smoke
     bare beasts arise from mists
And in the succulent herbs contend
     with the hunger of hammers and thirst of steel
For the mead of Poetry and sinew of Swords abound to fare.
From the nectar of the fathers of old, a mighty
     draft forth spring,
to the spark of creation hums and again begins anew.

A forest of swords from iron grows
     in the breath of dragons' might.
Hammer in hand and anvil strong, hammer
     between throws sparks red, orange bright.
Callused hands and coarse wiry beards
     bear witness to the morning blade
As shadows flee the steel soft, and in oil
          finds its strength.

Weary in the hours come, a rest so welcome sound
     to the tune of the forefathers, ember sing
     and into the night song flows.
Song of sorrows and song of joys, song of elder times.
     Song of remembrance Eldgrímr sang
     to legends fallen so long ago.

Come the dawn and flee the sun, the rhythm begins again.
     beneath the forgefire coals, far down the pot
     an an ancient way brought life anew
     to the axe of Danskere, in flames the irons brew.
Cleft in halves the edges join,
     a union brought by hammers hard,
     drink in the anvil's might.
   

                    Before the great golden sun finds home atop the sky,
                         Eldgrímr takes flight once more.
                         Towards foreign lands with swords in hand,
                         to the raiding of Hlaðadór.

                    Forgotten treasures buried beneath the decay of time
                         and the passing of an Age.
                         Easements lost in sleepless night, slumber upon the floor
                         while eaves creep farther warding the weary intruder's step.

Wreathed in the smoke of pipes alight,
     the midnight grindstone wears away
the armour of rust and cladding of scale
     that holds back the beauty of steel's soul.







                    Long last the dawn rises once more and Eldgrímr fades
                         back into the pages of the remembered days
                         Through flame and forge beneath heaven's light
                         Returns to the idles of the world's sight.
                    Yet not without the brothers' bond, and the memories of those rare old times.