Come to Me, Be at Peace.

Here’s a bit of isolation…something I wrote, hahaha. I’m not sure it can rightly be called poetry. I just enjoy getting my thoughts out this way sometimes.

Come to Me, Be at Peace.

Be at peace, child
For the world is empty at your touch
We regret all we have done
It was not meant
Open your mouth
Let echoes warble from within
Awaken sleeping Grendel
Let him stay near
Warmed by a matted suit
Of fur and red blood
Let him teach you
The Shaper’s ways
We will tear the flesh of unbelieving folk
We will curse the dying blooms
We will stretch our clawed fingers
To the sky and snatch
What birds we can
Dip them in stardust and myths of love
Between gods and goddesses
We will crush their necks between our teeth
And hum
We will seek the unchanging winds
We will seek the white noise of thought
We will heed nothing
We will be
We will be
We will be


For some reason, being trapped in my flat made me think of Grendel as he is characterized in John Gardner’s novel of the same name. This “poem” isn’t directly inspired by that story; it’s moreso a collection of images called up by my memory of how it felt to read that book. Reading Grendel’s story from his perspective, imagining his delight in the life he leads–simultaneously owning nature while existing as its willing pawn–is definitely in my top five reading experiences. It made me feel wild and want to live with an abandon I wasn’t sure I was capable of. I imagine most of us will live a little more wildly once lockdown ends.

I’ve already been making plans with friends.


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