The Call

by: Jake Arminius | Published: December 22, 2020

The Raven from high above
Did call
Alone I heard the call
Though all Kin
Were called

In his cry
A croak grown hoarse
Was the trumpets
Of war
The ground was dry
For long had the blood
Of heroes wet
It' s thirsty tongue

The Kin die slowly
With a whisper and many silent
Why is this so?
For if the poet only
Hears the Raven
Then what children
Can hear the hero?

So my Kin rise up
Not with voice
Or pen
With steel and blood
For the Serpent tricked you
With fine cloth and bed

Quench the thirsty ground
Sake the poet' s pen
For the children ask
Where is the hero?

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