Once More To The Bridge

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’

White Blood

I  was afraid I would fail. Fall arms flailing. Feeling nothing. Fleeing the clips of heartstrings.
You knew you would sooner fall. Carried away from hearth before you had all your say.
You prayed. Thankful for every new day. For friends and gifts unweighed.
You spoke. Gentle words that still provoked. Strength to rise above life’s yoke.
I’m ready. To fall and fear no fail. To feel the pain. To get up. To find another way.
                                                                                                        –For Nevender

 

The Vulture’s Laugh

anomander-rake

If you knew where this path led
Would you have walked it?
If you knew the pain at love’s solemn end
Would you have awakened it?

In darkness the wheel turns
In darkness the dust dims
In red fire the wheel burns
In darkness the sun spins

If you knew the thought in your head
Would you have spoken it?
If by this one word you betrayed a friend
Would you have uttered it?

In darkness the wheel turns
In darkness the dust dims
In red fire the wheel burns
In darkness the sun spins

If you knew the face of the dead
Would you have touched it?
If by this coin a soul’s journey to send
Would you have stolen it?

In darkness the wheel turns
In darkness the dust dims
In red fire the wheel burns
In darkness the sun spins

Sparak Chant
Psalm VII ‘The Vulture’s Laugh’
The Sparak Nethem
Malazan Book of The Fallen

Eddard said…

Most bullets in modern guns are supersonic over their effective range, so take comfort in the sound of bullets. You won’t hear the one that kills you.

And the king said, “Logical guy Ed: As if people be standing around thinking, ‘Was that subsonic or supersonic? Let me wait for the next one and see.'”