Forgotten Ground Regained
Cain’s Kin (Grendel Alone)
Originally published in Withowinde 130, p. 15, Summer, 2003
My cursed kind ‧ can know no joy,wandering the world ‧ on woeful turf,forsaken by God, feared by man,only known ‧ to other unthings.The mournful wind ‧ in wild places,the cold night sky ‧ in cruel lone walks,these sights and sounds, soothing to me,as I plot ‧ my pitiless tasks.Such is my wyrd. I must work it,harp and laughter ‧ hidden from me.A lord’s laughter ‧ louder may bethan my muttered ‧ mouthing of bile,but is the lord ‧ blameless always?Mead benches taken ‧ from blitheless men!such is the way ‧ of witty lords.My curse is that ‧ I can eatthe happy men ‧ of hated lords.The firelight dies. I draw nearerto the darkening ‧ hall of dead men.I sup my fill ‧ as they sleep deep.Maybe the lordly ‧ in their lone bowerwould sweeter taste ‧ than steely heroes.Or maybe a man ‧ made of legendcould end my wyrd ‧ and work my rest.
Copyright © Brian Wright 2003
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