Note: A Short peom about Athelstan and Ragnar, about their relationship and about death. It was inspired by Richard Sikens poetry-sytle.
The Conqueror
You knew,
You knew it was bad when he said he was going to leave and it didn't matter where he was going. It mattered and it still does.
More than you thought.
So you wanted to make him stay,
Always wanted nothing but that, even when you felt the prickling of umbrageous eyes on your neck and saw the stare of death reflected in his eyes.
And you held him tight, so tight,
Embraced him
And worried he might smell all blood on you, some of it his.
He didn't, or did an didn't care
And would that make it better or worse?
Or both.
When you first met him
He looked at you like you were a savage beast, tearing the throats of the innocent
(just for the kill, for fun, not just out of hunger),
Which you were, you knew then.
You were.
And maybe he was too.
Wolves do what wolves do
And had you not seen the dark, calm depth in ocean,
You hadn't felt the ocean and you were one and the same,
You hadn't even known you were playing a wolf among wolves.
So in the end,
No need to deny it,
You were an oceans depth in a wolves clothing,
Hiding.
His kindness had crushed your violence to dust
That you exhaled with every breath you took in his presence.
His placidness had strangled your cruelty to death,
His ocean had drowned your wolf.
In a way, he was a conqueror more than you.
So yes, you think, yes,
He was a savage, more so than you.
Because now you are changed
And so is he.