Dreaming of Valhalla
Under the bright eye of the Sun,
Old warriors die, dreaming of Valhalla –
~Jörð’s relentless army approaches~
Dreams are bleached & rusting.
The green limbs rise in triumph
Over that rocky bed of woe.
No tears stain the battered armor this white-bone day.
Smoke may be seen, shadows of broken pledges in the wind;
Not even the raven comes here to pick bones clean.
Note: I imitated the metaphorical & declarative style of speech found in Anglo-Saxon poetry, while building a visual metaphor of abandoned & broken household machines and various vehicles. Here is the link for more on the Germanic Gods.