Unferth

With back to the battle I stand yet unwounded,
My armour unbattered, my sword yet unnotched.
No foe has fallen to my ancient sword,
Shall I stand disgraced before my comrades, my lord?
Am I not Unferth, a great warrior renowned,
My name a terror, my head yet unbowed?
How long will I waver between terror and pride
Shall Unferth be first or shall I be denied?
Disgraced in my kin's eyes I shall appear
Unless by great deeds I prove I have conquered my fear
Or ... if I should act brave, but take no great risks
Perhaps none will note that something's amiss.

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Unferth is a character from the old norse tale Beowulf, one of the most beautiful old english poems on the earth. He is rather a coward, and when Beowulf shows up at court he tries to make him look foolish and weak, and fails miserably when Beowulf answers his boasts and needling comments with accounts of brave deeds. I was trying to capture some of Unferth's vaccilations in this poem while showing his good side too. However, I have been trying too hard I think. It needs to have another stanza of twelve lines, but that will have to wait. (It is supposed to be 12, 11, 10; 12, 11, 10 etc. with rhyming couplets in ... well I can never see the meter in a poem, so it is just supposed to be in the same meter, whatever that may be.) Post now, alter later.

A simple poem

Storm clouds roll around the palace of the sun
Thunderclap and lightning flash seem like distant guns
The armies of the darkness surround the walls of truth
Battle lines are drawn upon the plains of joy and youth
Naught seems left for the defense, no hope left at all
The enemy’s grim and powerful, good’s chance of victr’y small.
Yet upon those plains unbounded by aught save land and sky
There stands a hope beyond all hopes, the one who cannot die.
Yet He is not as other hopes, a shining figure armed
With armor fair of double proof, nor plumed like Caesar's guard.
His armor is His sun-browned skin, now crossed with bleeding scars
His crown a cap of cruel, dark thorns that cut and prick and mar.
His charger is an oaken tree, and was shaped by evil men
It seems a twisted, devilish thing, a monster from the fens.
"Death, death, death" cries the armies spawned in hell
Their trumpets blast, the very earth cracks and looses creatures great and fell.
Reeling back and holding, then falling back in fear
The armies of the best of men seem to fade and disappear.
One sole remnant, a meager few, make their stand about their Lord
And as it seems the day is done and they are for the sword,
A single cry escapes the lips of Jesus Christ the Lord.
Consummatum est!
Back are rolled the armies of the dark's own meager king
Back and back and back again they fall as that voice rings!
For in that moment is revealed as plain as brightest day
That the darkness has not conquered Him, it is He that's conquered they!
All glory to the Word of God, that great and merc'ful king
Who grievely wronged by Adam's sin defeated sin for him.

Arise my beloved, my beautiful one and come

To any and all who happen upon this place;
Upon this day, in this month, within the span of this year and forever forseen in the mind of God, I, Sean Michael Edmund Vieira do hereby dedicate this web log to the honor and glory of God under the special protection of the Holy Spirit and the patronage of Saint Francis de Sales. I pray that it may be a source of light to you if you are honest, source of comfort if you are berieved, a source of inspiriation if you are consumed by enui, and a source of grace no matter what state you may be in. The purpose of this place is simply to provide a space for me to write in, for pleasure, for improvement, and most of all for God's honor and glory.
God bless you traveller, and I bid thee welcome.

Yours in Christ;
Sean