Sunday, 23 September 2012

The Silent Land Screams

Green glens lie quiet in the bitter chill of winter’s night
Summer golden valleys echo the eerie sound of silence
Hillsides rustle as natures beasts wander proud and free
In the air sing the voices of winged hunters in full flight

Northern soil turns as hardy souls eke out their existence
And in the hills and glens wild peoples stake their claim
In rocky coastal waters silver fish provide a meagre morsel
A fledgling nation’s psyche is forged in their persistence

With every birth they spread familial reach into the wilds
Bonding with their neighbours in protection and in life
Small tribes become great clans united in their struggles
Borders stretch across the land encompass windswept isles

Warring Chieftains come together forging destiny in blood
Painted people chase invading legions back to walls of stone
Horned raiders coming to the shores vanquished to the deep
Southern hordes left rotting in the bloodied fields of mud

Ancient cultures come together, stride forth as a nation grows
A warrior race emerges from the rugged hills and barren moor
Wanton eyes glint with menace and the need to dominate
Once again the warriors clash, their dead feed the brazen crows 

Proud people stand as one whilst their brothers sell their souls
Birth-rights sold for the southern coin, rich promises and tithes
But still they fight for freedom and their continual existence
Free from foreign domination and twisted silver tongue controls

Fallen kings and warriors lie buried in the blood-soaked past
Those battlegrounds now the silent graves of a nation’s sons
Crushed rebellions and slaughter fuels the warriors descendants
Fighting blood fills the pounding veins of a people built to last

And as the land lies quiet in the bitter chill of a winter’s night
Valleys echo once again to the clarion call of freedom
Hillsides come alive with shrill mutterings of nationhood
And on the air voices sing once more of a country and its might

© F Martin