By Emmit Other
Forged from the Heart
Of a Hundred Mountains
From Ore So Deep
Dwarves Would Bleed From Terrors Unleashed
On Flame and Wing
Breath of Air and Carbon's Bitter Tart
Refined and Folded Back and Back Again
Until the World Turns Upon Itself
An Axe is a weapon for wood or death
And little room between
It isn't a rapier; svelt and wit
Or a Broadsword; cleft and writ
Not a longsword or short sword
Or even a Hammer
But for chopping trees
Or Sinner's Stammer
Excaliber's Edge sings through all the mythologies
Dozens of swords and their magical ecologies
Sit now and hear the Axe that was Made
The Thundering Song
Of all being unmade
In the hands of a seer it is shield and pike
In the hands of the warrior it's a head on a spike
Shields are sundered
And armor is splintered
Ghosts run in terror
And spring times are wintered
It is above all a vesel of will
To take the heart of the storm
And force it to still
It isnt justice that this Axe seeks above all
But the hubris of madness
That foreshadows the fall
Tinkling bells of fairy chime
Hear the wind that is split
In a piece of divine
Retribution invested in karmic belay
From those who boast
And those that betray
