Orcs of the Red Blade
Tribe Annals => The Campfire => Topic started by: Mozrogg on January 02, 2012, 02:10:30 AM
War drums echo across the land
The hour of the wolf is at hand
From dust o' Durotar to cold harsh north
From Elven foe to Bearded Dwarf
Orcish race, stand proud and tall
From Barren sun or Grommash Hall.
No more be the bloody haze
The fearsome pack lifts it's gaze
Fear ye' not when hope be faint
No longer be a demon taint.
Beset on all side no promise made
Grab yer axe honoured Red Blade.
The Aspect of death looms up ahead
But we be orcs we will not play dead
The hour of the wolf is at hand...
Loving this one! Very nicely thought of.
Very good poem! Your use of couplets kept things very succinct and to the point, and I couldn't help but think of W. B. Yeats' Second Coming in your first few lines ("Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand").
Loved it. Please write more. :D