New Occidental Poetry

To Teach their Sons the Sword

Drops of ancient blood flicker
snuffed by culling waves
Desolate inspiration, motion sodden
Somewhere within lingers the scent of pioneers and kings
Only the survivors,
men who battle couldn't fell
We ride the tips of spears
Dead flesh flayed did fail to breed
Traveler on tails celestial
‘cross killing fields on lava’s crest
to come under the yoke of anti-men
We must know war’s clouded mirror again
So leagues from now men may ponder
the sacrifices and triumphs of ancestors,
and thank the shade of trees,
as they teach their sons the sword,
and the weariness of poison men

-J.C. Adams

Arthur Powell