PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As darkness hugs every corner of the hall

A mighty warrior stands awake waiting

For the fangs of the mother, of the dead,

This time the was no escaping.



Long blood stained nails grasp the door,

To see the murderer of her child,

As Beowulf stands unmatched by any,

The chance for mother was very mild.



Here eyes peer deep into his soul,

Trying to steal all pride he held within,

The smell of her putrid body,

Was lightly painted with sin.



Saliva drips from the mother's fangs,

As battle is almost at hand,

It's down to the final honor,

If beast or man will stand.



The mother leaps high into the air,

Slicing the cheek of the warrior,

Blood drips from the wound,

As he thinks of how he will kill her.



Mercy had no tokens on mothers side,

As Beowulf's eyes fill with hatred,

The sword, he had slain his victories with,

Had sliced off the mothers head.



Beowulf picks up the morbid head,

And takes it to the fair king,

Now that the terror is gone,

All of Denmark's voices sing.



Beowulf's bravery has won the battle,

One he knew he would win,

The evil eyes of the demon,

Is buried deeply into sin.