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It's been a few years since I've done any writing, or even come to visit on writingforums. Truth be told, my life fell apart. I'm putting the pieces back together slowly. Most recently I spent some time in an addictions treatment center. For those of us who have experienced addiction, it can be hard to come to terms with our "addict self" and the person we no longer are. I sometimes envision the two fighting a war within me. Yet, at the same time... the two are intrinsically intertwined. Two faces of the same coin. A great man told me that this is called "dancing with the dragon."
This is a retelling of my favorite tale, the story of Beowulf, and his own dance with the dragon.
Thanks for reading.
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Where Beowulf Lies
By J.T. Erikssen
The Hero marches up the slope,
To the mountain peak where his Dragon lies
Armed with shield, sword and naught else but hope
He surrenders to what may be his own demise
The Hero charges through the gloom
He unsheathes his blade and lifts his up his shield
Too eager to wage war with doom
That lays in wait to make this ground a battlefield
The Dragon’s gaze meets his prey
“Dare he challenge me?” the Dragon seethes
His adversary not far away
The Dragon roars, and then he breathes
Heat and flame assault his foe
But still the hero does not care
The Dragon stole his peace long ago
So his armor melts, and his mortality is laid bare
And yet the Hero is unafraid
“You shall die today,” the Hero declares
The blood toll owed will not go unpaid,”
And he swings his sword as his temper flares
The hero’s blade plunges into the dragon deep
And His thirst for vengeance at once is sated
For out of his own wounds does his lifeblood creep
His fate too belongs to the one he hated.
The dragon grimaces and then he wails
“What shall you be when I am gone?
Are you ready to embrace what my death entails?”
And with that, the Dragon passes on.
The hero watches wearily as the dragon falls
And ponders what the dragon has said
And as he himself prepares for Valhalla’s Halls
HE begins to mourn that the dragon is dead
The hero looks at himself, then at his deed reconciled,
And cries out in anguish to the Dragon’s remains.
“I made you, Dragon; you were my child”
And falls to the earth as his resolve wanes
And in the dusk of his last day the hero does see
The futility of a Dragon-less sky
“What are heroics without villainy?”
Beowulf laments, and chooses to die
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