**This is the second in what will be a triad of attempts at the Olde English poetic genre. As a new poetic style for me I am finding it to be a challenge and wonder at the relevance for it in today's world. Nevertheless, I love the style of writing and admire the work of fellow poet T. Petrov Pavlova and it is her inspiration that has given me the impetus to try. Hope you will enjoy.
Wast thou e'er of this ilk;
a warrior angered ‘gainst all whom
bringeth thee displeasure,
whether in form or in countenance,
in voice or in errs they do maketh?
Thou, bellowing tirades of vile
language, sendeth e'en the bravest
of men scittering for their abodes,
lest thy wrath fall upon them,
ne'ermindst the faint of heart!
Thine eyes becometh orbs of dark fire;
thy lips curleth back from thy
teeth, clenched and gnashing
Thy countenance becometh
one nearly demonic in
Whilst quenching thy thirst for rage,
dost thou even knoweth from whence
thine inhospitable spirit doth arise?
Dost thou e'en pondereth thy wake of
fear and suffering, wrought upon those
whom thou professeth to love?
Perchance not, for thou hast filled
thy moat of ego and wrath; thou hast
erected and percheth upon the ramparts
of thy heart of castle stone.
E'er unreconciled beyond thy
belief that all shouldst be as
thou believeth, thou revilest all;
their demeanors of no consequence
to a soul so ebonite and cold.
And yet, thou instilleth sorrow in the
ones whom carest most for thee,
for thou shalt ne'er findeth love within;
nay, thou shalt ne'er e'en culleth respect
and thine anger shalt dwelleth
in thee forevermore!