Cold's Silver Death
This is another one that just kind of flowed together while it was snowing. I always enjoy the mental image of some lone wanderer marching across stretches of winter frozen lands. You'd probably have to have a good reason to do that though, right? Something like.... revenge?
Hoarfrost clings to the curves of the land,
Crunching beneath as I march sword in hand.
Frozen in time by winter's cruel breath,
The plains glitter bright with cold's silver death.
On the horizon I'm fixed; long miles I roam,
As I venture -pathless- far from my home.
My only companion? The glare of the sun,
As I dream of the hearth from a past now undone.
No friend do I have to warm my cold thoughts,
Just the terrible dreams of a battle once fought.
Of the clash of cold iron on a hill much like this,
And the weeping of men swallowed by doom's dark abyss.
Of a foe whom the gods senselessly saved,
When all he deserved was a taste of the grave.
I march now beyond the reach of my ken,
Hoping to find and fight them again.
If the bitter winds take me before I arrive,
I'll know that my enemy was meant to survive.
But if I should live to darken their door,
I'll see their blood freeze on the cold of the floor.